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The  Scarlet  Stigma 


A   Drama 
In    Four   Acts 


By 

JAMES  EDGAR  SMITH. 


Founded    up6n' "  NatHariiel    Hawthorne's    Novel, 
"The  Scarlet  Letter." 


WASHINGTON,   D.   C. 

JAMES    J.    CHAPMAN, 
1899. 


Copyright,  1899,  by  JAMES  EDGAR  SMI  1  H. 
All  rights  reserved. 


Press  of  George  S.  K rouse-.  Bindery,  of  Edwin  F.  Price. 

WASHINGTON,     I)  .     C  . 


3  k 


STIGMAT1ZATION  is  a  rare  incident  of  ecstasy.  Not 
many  well  authenticated  cases  have  been  reported  by  com 
petent  medical  authorities,  and  yet  there  can  be  no  doubt  of 
its  occasional  occurrence.  See  Encyclopaedia  Britannica, 
article  on  Stigmatization  by  Dr.  Macalister,  and  references 
therein  cited;  also  the  work  on  Nervous  and  Mental  Dis 
eases  by  Dr.  Landon  Carter  Gray,  page  511.  That  it  may 
occur  in  men  of  a  high  order  of  ability  is  instanced  by  the 
case  of  St.  Francis  of  Assisi. 

It  ought  not  to  be  necessary  to  point  out  that  the  entire 
third  scene  in  the  second  act  of  this  play  is  a  dramatic  trans- 
script  from  the  diseased  consciousness  of  Mr.  Dimsdell,  that 
the  Satan  of  the  play  is  an  hallucination,  and  that  the  im 
press  of  the  stigma  upon  DimsdelPs  breast  is  merely  the 
culmination  of  his  auto-hypnotic  ecstasy,  or  trance. 

417180 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


ROGER  PRYNNE,  called  Chillingworth ,  a  physician. 

ARTHUR  DIMSDELL,  a  youthful  divine. 

JOHN  WILSON,  a  good  old  minister. 

BELLINGHAM,  Governor  of  the  Colony. 

BUTTS,  a  sea  captain. 

SATAN,  an  hallucination  of  DimsdelPs. 

BRONSON, 

WARD 

'  \  Members  of  the  Governor's  Council. 

ARNOLD, 

DIGGORY,  a  servant  to  Governor  Bellingham. 

HESTER  PRYNNE,  wife  of  Roger  Prynne. 

MARTHA  WILSON,  daughter  of  Rev.  John  Wilson. 

URSULA,  a  nurse. 

BETSEY,  a  milkmaid. 

MOTHER  CAREY,  keeper  of  a  sailor's  inn. 

A  Clerk,  a  Crier,  &  Jailer,  Councilors,  Citizens,  Soldiers, 

Sailors,  Indians,  Servants. 
SCENE— Boston.  TIME— -June,  1668. 


THE  SCARLET  STIGMA. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I. — A  tavern  and  a  street  in  front  of  it.  Settles  on 
porch.  SAILORS  smoking  and  drinking.  Enter  CAPTAIN 
BUTTS,  singing. 

Butts.   The  Margery  D.  was  a  trim  little  ship, 

The  men  they  could  man,  and  the  skipper  could  skip; 
She  sailed  from  her  haven  one  fine  summer  day, 
And  she  foundered  at  sea  in  tbe  following  way, — 
To-wit : 

iAll.     A-rinkety,  clinkety,  clink,  clank,  clank, 

The  liquor  they  bathed  in,  the  spirits  they  drank; 
<A  sailor  at  sea  with  three  sheets  in  the  wind 
Can  hardly  be  called,  sirs,  quite  sober. 

Enter  MOTHER  CAREY,  from  Tavern. 
Carey.  Cap'n!  Cap'n  Butts!  Gen'ie  gen'lemen!  wou!d 


12     ;\  J  THc    SCARLET  STIGMA. 

ye  rune  a  pore  widdy  woman  by  a  singing  of  sech  filthy 
tunes?    And  me  up  for  my  license  again  nex'  Tuesday! 

Butts.  Peace!  Peace,  Mother  Carey,  hear  your  chick 
ens  screech!  Come,  boys!  [Singing. 

The  captain  was  thirsty,  and  so  was  each  man, 
They  ladled  the  grog  out  by  cup  and  by  can, 
The  night  it  was  stormy,  they  knew  not  the  place, 
And  they  sang  as  they  sank  tbe  following  grace, — 

To-wit : 
tAll.     trf-sinkety,  sinkety,  sink,  sank,  sunk, 

Our  captain  is  tipsy,  our  mate  is  quite  drunk, 
Our  widows  we  leave  to  the  world's  tender  care, 
<And  -we  don't  give  a  damn  for  the  Devil! 

Ha!  Ha!  Ha! 

Carey.  O,  Lord !  O,  Lord !  If  the  magistrates  should  hear 
that  song,  they'd  close  my  place ! 

Butts.  There,  there  now.  [Chucks  her  under  the  chin.'] 
The  magistrates  are  not  as  quick  to  hear  a  sailor  sing  as 
thou  art  to  take  his  orders.  Bring  us  a  pint  apiece. 

Carey.  Thou  naughty  man!  [Slaps  his  jaws.'}  A  pint 
apiece?  [Exit. 

Butts.  Aye.  Now,  lads,  bargain  out  your  time;  ye'll 
not  see  a  petticoat  for  many  a  day.  [Lights  pipe  and  sits. 

Sailors.  Aye,  aye,  sir. 

CITIZENS  cross  stage, singly  and  in  groups,all  going  in  the  same 
direction.  Enter  MOTHER  C  ARE V  from  house  with  ale,  serves  it, 
looks  up  and  down  street  as  in  expectation  of  some  one,  then  goes  in. 

Butts.  Mother  Carey's  lost  one  of  her  chicks.    Here  lads ! 


JJCT  I.     SCENE  I.  13 

here's  to  the  mousey  Puritan  lassies !  They  won't  dance, 
they  can't  sing — Ah!  well!  here's  to  them  till  we  come 
again !  [All  drink. 

Enter  along  the  street  two  COUNCILORS. 

Arnold.  'Tis  very  true ;  but,  sir,  though  many  break 
this  law  and  go  unpunished,  our  godly  Company  should 
not  wink  at  known  adultery. 

Langdon.  In  other  words,  we  must  find  scape-goats  to 
bear  our  sins. 

^Arnold.  Nay,  not  exactly  that.  We  vindicate  God's 
laws,  and [Exeunt  Councilors. 

Butts.  He  must  be  Privy  Councilor  to  the  Lord  Himself ! 

Enter  a  group  of  WOMEN. 

First  Woman.  Her  beauty,  say'st  thou?  Pretty  is  as 
pretty  does,  say  I.  I'd  beauty  her!  Go  to!  Who  knows 
the  father 'of  her  brat;  can  any  tell? 

Second  Woman.  Thou  dost  not  doubt  thy  goodman? 

First  Woman.  Trust  none  of  them.  I  know  mine  own ; 
dost  thou  know  thine?  As  for  her  she  hath  shamed  our 
sex,  and  I  would—  [Exeunt  Women. 

Butts.  God's-my-life,  there's  more  poison  in  their  tongues 
than  in  a  nest  of  rattlesnakes?  What's  all  this  pother, 
lads? 

Sailor.  There's  a  trial,  sir,  on  a  charge  of  bastardy. 

Butts.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  You  rogues  had  better  shrp  else 
where;  if  the  wind  sits  in  that  quarter,  you'll  find  foul 
weather  here. 

Sailors.  Ha!  ha!  ha! 


14  THE    SCARLET  STIGMA. 

More  people  cross  the  stage. 
Butts.  Cheapside  on  a  holiday! 

Re-enter  MOTHER  CAREY,  dressed  for  walking. 

Carey.  O,  dear!  O,  dear!  I'll  be  late;  I'm  sure  I'll  be 
late.  Oh!  dear,  dear,  dear!  why  will  that  Ursula  still  lag? 

Butts.  What's  the  matter,  Mother? 

Carey.  Matter?  Matter  enough!  a  gentlewoman  tried 
for  adultery  and  me  sure  to  miss  it  all !  [Looks  around.] 
Why  doesn't  Ursula  come?  O,  dear!  O,  dear! — why, 
here  she  is! 

Enter  URSULA. 

What  kept  thee,  Ursula? 

Ursula.  Such  a  crowd!  Whew!  I'm  out  o'  breath. 
[Sits;  one  or  two  pass  over.~\  The  town's  run  mad  to  look 
upon  a  gentlewoman  shamed.  [Citizens  still  pass.]  Ah! 
there's  no  room  for  me  now,  but  when  her  labor  came  God 
knows  there  was  no  press!  I  had  room  enough  then,  not 
one  would  lend  a  hand — fie !  they  are  serpents,  all  of  them ; 
they  have  double  tongues  to  hiss,  but  ne'er  a  hand  to  help. 

Carey.  Still  talking  to  herself.  Here,  Ursula,  take  the 
keys  and  wait  upon  the  gentlemen. 

[Hands  keys  to  Ursula  and  exit  up  street. 

Ursula.  Let  the  gentlemen  wait  on  me  awhile. 

'Butts.  Would  you  have  us  die  of  thirst,  Ursula? 

Ursula.  What  will  you  have,  Captain? 

Butts.  Stingo,  Ursula,  stingo  !          [Exit  Ursula  in  tavern. 

What  say  you,  lads,  shall  we  see  this  trial? 

Sailor.  Aye,  aye,  sir,  the  woman's  fair  to  look  upon. 


/.     SCENE  I.  15 

Then  let  us  get  our  ballast  in,   hoist  sail  and 
tack  away. 

T{e-enter  URSULA  with  ale. 
Who  is  it,  Ursula,  they  try? 

Ursula.  A  gentle  lady,  sir.  God's-my-life,  had  no  man 
tempted  her — but,  that's  your  ways,  you  tempt  us,  blame 
us  when  we  yield,  and  then  make  laws  to  punish  us. 

"Butts.  But,  what's  her  name? 

Ursula.  What  should  it  be  but  Hester  Prynne? 

'Butts.  Hester  Prynne?    The  gentle  Mistress  Prynne 
I  brought  from  Amsterdam  three  years  ago? 

Ursula.  The  same,  God  bless  her. 

Butts.  My  lads,  don't  wait  for  me.  [Exeunt  Sailors. 

]  knew  her  husband,  Ursula;  a  man 
Well  versed  in  all  the  wisdom  of  the  time; 
Somewhat  well  gone  in  years,  but  lovable 
Beyond  the  shallowness  of  youth,  and  rich 
In  mellow  charity.    Oft  hath  he  sailed 
With  me  from  port  to  port  where  learning  drew  him, 
And  still  came  richer  home.    One  day  he  shipped 
For  Amsterdam  and  brought  his  bride,  who,  like 
A  hawthorn  in  its  pink  of  youth  that  blushes 
'Neath  the  shadow  of  an  ancient  elm, 
Shed  spring-time  sweetness  round  his  green  old  age. 
I've  seen  them  often  in  their  Holland  home, 
Where  wisdom  laid  its  treasures  at  the  feet 
Of  love,  and  beauty  crowned  the  offering. 
She  was  a  lovely  lady,  Ursula, 
And  when  her  lord,  still  bent  on  learning  more, 
Resolved  to  come  out  to  America — 


1 6  THE   SCARLET  STIGMA. 

His  own  affairs  then  calling  him  to  England — 
He  placed  her  in  my  care,  intending  soon 
To  follow  her.    He  did,  but  cursed  fate ! 
His  ship  was  lost— no  one  knows  where! 

Ursula.  Alack 

The  day !    She  had  not  sinned  had  he  been  here. 

Butts.  But,  didst  thou  know  her,  Ursula,  as  1 
Have  known  her,  wisely  good  and  true,  thou  wouldst 
Have  wondered  more. 

Ursula.  Know  her,  sir!     1  nursed  her! 

Butts.  Thou,  Ursula? 

Ursula.  None  but  I ! 

Butts.  Where  were  her  friends? 

Ursula.  Where,  but  at  home !  Dear  heart, 

They  shunned  her  like  the  plague — though  if  the  truth 
Were  known,  many  that  shun  her  now  would  keep 
Her  company  perforce.    None  came  near 
But  pious  Master  Dimsdell,  and  even  he 
Came  only  out  of  duty  to  her  soul ; 
He  told  me  so. 

Butts.  The  Reverend  Master  Dimsdell 

And  thou  her  only  comforters? 

Ursula.  Nay, 

The  little  bairn  was  her  greatest  comfort,  sir. 

Butts.  How  doth  she  bear  her  trouble,  Ursula? 

Ursula.  Like  a  good  woman,  sir. 

Butts.  She  yet  is  that ! 

But  have  you  never  learned  her  lover's  name  ? 

Ursula.    Nay,  I  never  have. 

'Butts.  'Tis  strange  that  she 


T  I.     SCENE  I.  17 

Should  fall;  and  then  endeavor  to  conceal 

Her  lover!     Noble,  wise  and  beautiful, 

No  other  than  a  man  of  mark  could  win  her! 

Ursula.  A  three  years  widow,  baby  three  months  old, 
A  coward  run-a-gate  of  a  lover,  sir — 
Tell  me,  is  there  no  exception  made 
By  law  for  widows? 

Butts.  None,  of  which  I  know. 

Ursula.  The  law  is  hard  indeed ! 

Butts.  I  wonder  if 

A  rough  sea-dog  like  me  might  speak  a  word 
For  her? 

Ursula.  Aye,  that  you  might !     Go  seek  the  good 
Old  Doctor  Wilson,  mercy  dwells  with  him, 
And  he  will  aid  you,  sir. 

Butts.  I'll  go  at  once. 

[Exeunt  severally,  Butts  up  street,  Ursula  in  tavern. 

Enter  ROGER  PRYNNE,  travel  stained. 

Roger.  We  are  not  masters  of  our  paths,  although 
Our  wills  do  seem  to  guide  our  faltering  steps: 
Ship  voyagers  are  we,  and  roam  at  will 
Within  the  narrow  confines  of  the  deck, 
But  neither  plot  nor  steer  the  destined  course. 
I  may  have  passed  her  house — I'll  ask  my  way 
Here  at  the  inn.     Long  live  King  Boniface! 
What  ho!  some  wine! 

Ursula.  [Within]   Your  patience,  Captain,  I'll  be  there 
anon. 

Roger.  At  your  leisure,  hostess ;  I've  learned  to  wait.  [Sits. 


l8  THE   SCARLET  STIGMA. 

A  bachelor  at  sixty,  I  found  myself 

Encumbered  with  award— nay,  not  that — 

Enriched  with  female  loveliness  and  grace 

Bequeathed  unto  me  by  a  dying  friend. 

Volition  had  no  part  in  that,  nor  in 

My  sudden  recrudescency  of  love. 

I  willed  our  marriage;  but  'twas  fate  bestowed 

The  joys  I  long  had  fled.    Then  came  our  life 

In  Amsterdam ;  each  day  so  filled  with  bliss 

It  overflowed  into  the  next,  and  days 

Of  joy  grew  into  weeks  and  months  of  happiness — 

Let  me  have  wine,  I  say! 

Ursula.  [Within}  Coming,  sir! 

T^oger.  Anon  the  traveling  itch — was't  fate  or  will- 
Possessed  my  soul  to  see  America, 
And  money  matters  calling  me  to  London, 
Where  raged  the  plague,  I  sent  my  wife  before  me 
To  America  with  Captain  Butts,  then  bound 
For  Boston.    Ah!  well-a-day,  the  parting! — 
I  hurried  up  my  business;  fled  London  town; 
Shipped  for  America;  was  wrecked  far  South; 
Captured  by  Indians;  escaping,  wandered  North 
Until  I  found  the  white  man's  colonies; 
And  now  footsore  and  old  I've  reached  the  place 
I  first  intended.    What  next,  O,  Fate? 

Enter  URSULA. 
Good  morrow,  hostess. 

Ursula.  Good  morrow,  sir.  [Surprised. 

T^oger.  Look  not 

Askance  upon  my  way-worn  clothes ;  there's  gold 


I.     SCENE  I.  19 

To  pay  my  reckoning.  [Throwing  money  down. 

Ursula.  Your  pardon,  sir; 

1  marveled,  sir,  so  fine  a  gentleman 
Should  be  so  travel-stained.    What  will  you  have? 

T{oger.  Bring  me  a  cup  of  sherris-sack. 

Ursula.  [Aside]  I  knew  he  was  a  gentleman!          [Exit. 

Roger.  How  will  my  Hester  greet  me?  Will  she  know  me? 
She  never  saw  me  with  a  beard,  nor  in 
Such  rags.    Perhaps  she  thinks  me  dead — 
If  so,  the  shock  might  kill  her— Let  me  see- 
Putative  widows  have  before  my  time 
Bought  second  husbands  with  their  beauty,  wealth, 
Or  wit— and  she  hath  all.    'Tis  probable— 
And  when  the  long-supposed  defunct  returned, 
He  found  his  amorous  relict  the  bride 
Of  a  bright-eyed  youth !    What  worse,  ye  harpy  fates? 
She  may  be  dead !    Oh !  this  is  madness! 
Sweet  Heaven,  let  her  live!  and,  if  I  find 
Her  married,  I'll  depart  unknown  to  her 
And  bury  in  my  heart's  deep  sepulchre 
My  widowed  grief.    Bah !  I'm  a  fool ! 
This  weakness  comes  from  my  long  wandering ! 
Misfortunes,  though  we  think  we  conquer  them, 
Ever  pursue,  hang  on  our  rear,  and  give 
Such  rankling  wounds  as  teach  our  souls  to  dread 
What  else  may  lie  in  wait  invincible. 

Re-enter  URSULA  with  wine. 

Ursula.  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir.    I  could  not  find  the  wine 
at  first. 

Roger.  Why,  how  was  that? 


> 

20  THE    SCARLET  STIGMA. 

Ursula.  I'm  not  the  hostess,  sir,  she  is  away;  I  merely 
take  her  place  till  she  comes  back. 

Roger.  You  fill  it  rarely. 

Ursula.  God  bless  thee,  sir,  I'm  cook,  nurse,  or  hostess, 
as  people  need  me.  Ursula  Cook,  Ursula  Nurse,  or  Ursula 
Goodale,  at  your  service,  sir. 

Roger.  Ah,  indeed,  Ursula!  Then  I  presume  thou  know- 
est  many  of  the  citizens? 

Ursula.  I  know  them  everyone. 

Roger.  This  wine  is  excellent.  [Drinking]  Dost  know 
one  Roger  Prynne? 

Ursula.  The  husband  of  our  Hester  Prynne? 

Roger.  The  same.  [Aside]     Thank  God,  she  lives. 

Ursula.  He's  dead,  sir,  rest  his  soul,  a  more  than  thirty 
months  ago. 

Roger.  Poor  fellow!  He  was  a  friend  of  mine.  Where 
did  they  bury  him? 

Ursula.  His  ship  was  wrecked,  he  had  no  burial. 

Roger.  Here's  to  his  memory!    You  know  his  wife? 

Ursula.  Alas  ;  I  do,  sweet  lady ! 

Roger.  And  why  alas  ?  The  loss  of  a  husband  is  no  great 
calamity  in  a  colony.  There  can  be  no  dearth  here  of  hus 
band-material,  I  fancy. 

Ursula.  Whence  come  you  that  you  know  so  little  of  the 
doings  here? 

Roger.  From  the  far  South,  where  for  two  long  years  and 
more  I've  lived  among  the  savages.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Ursula.  I  mean  her  trial  by  the  magistrates. 

Roger.  Tried  by  magistrates?    For  what? 

Ursula.  Adultery. 


I.     SCENE  /.  21 

Roger.  Tried  for  adultery  ? 

Ursula.  Aye,  sir,  that  she  is. 

Roger.  It  is  a  lie,  a  damned  lie  \  Tried  for  adultery !  A 
likely  thing !  So  pure  a  woman  !  A  purer  creature  never 
lived ! 

Ursula.  Sir,  you  are  her  friend  ?    You  know  her  ? 

Roger.  \  am — I  am  her  husband — her  husband's  friend. 
I  knew  her  in  Old  England.  Adultery !  A  pretty  word  ! 
Who  doth  accuse  her?  Damned  detractors ! 

Ursula.  Her  child. 

Roger.  Her  what? 

Ursula.  Her  child. 

Roger.  Hath  Hester  Prynne  a  child?  Well,  well ;  that  is 
news  indeed !  God  bless  the  little  thing !  it  can't  be  quite 
as  much  as  three  years  old ;  nay,  not  so  old.  Why,  such 
a  tot  can  give  no  testimony.  I'll  go  to  this  trial ;  I  may  be 
able  yet  to  aid  her.-  Adultery !  Bah  ! 

Ursula.  God  bless  your  heart,  sir. 

Roger.  Is't  a  boy  or  girl,  how  old  ? 

Ursula.  A  girl  and  three  months  old. 

Roger.  Three  months?    Three  years  you  mean. 

Ursula.  Three  months,  I  said. 

Roger.  Thou  dost  not  mean  that  Hester  Prynne  hath 
borne  a  child  within  the  last  two  years? 

Ursula.  I  do.  [Aside]  A  strange  man,  truly.  This  news 
hath  troubled  him ;  but  that's  not  strange,  it  troubles  all 
her  friends.  He  seemed  glad  enough  she  had  a  child,  but 
when  I  said  it  was  a  girl  it  seemed  to  sting  him.  Well, 
well!  God  help  the  women ;  we  are  unwelcome  when  we 
come,  abused  while  we  stay,  and  driven  hence  with  ill-usage. 


22  THE   SCARLET  STIGMA. 

Roger.  Adulteress !    That  cannot  be !    There's  some 
Mistake,  or  some  deceit  in  this.    Her  great 
Nobility  of  heart  would  take  upon 
Herself  another's  wrong.     I'll  take  an  oath 
The  babe  they  say  is  hers  she  never  bore ! 

Ursula.  'Tis  surely  hers,  for  I  delivered  her. 

T^oger.  Hester !  Hester !  O,  my  God !     My  Hester ! 
Woman,  didst  thou  say  that  she  is  married  ? 

Ursula.  Nay,  I  said  she  is  a  widow,  sir. 

T{oger.  Who  is  her  paramour? 

Ursula.  I  do  not  know.     [Busies  herself  removing  tankards. 

Roger.  [Aside]  Now  is  my  honored  name  dragged  in  the 

dust 

By  her  to  whom  I  did  confide  its  keeping  ; 
And  she  herself,  my  cherished  wife,  upraised 
Upon  a  pedestal  of  shameful  guilt 
For  filthy  mouths  to  spit  their  venom  at. 
Slowly  now.    Whatever  haps  I'll  be 
Cornelius  Tacitus  for  the  nonce,  nor  brave 
My  state  with  that  true  name  which  marks  me  out 
As  Publius  Cornutus.    I  must  have  time  to  think. 
[  To  Ursula]  Get  me  more  wine.    Prepare  a  room  for  me. 

Ursula.  Aye,  sir.     [Going.] 

Roger.  Where  is  this  trial  held? 

Ursula.  Sir,  at  the  Market  place,  three  crossings  up 
The  street  and  to  the  left. 

Roger.  \  thank  thee.    Go.        [Exit  Ursula, 

Why  was  the  banishment  of  tyrant  fate 
Annulled  by  vigorous  will  ?  and  why  should  I, 
For  whom  the  jaws  of  death  unhinged  themselves. 


/.   SCENE  i.  23 

Escape  from  shipwreck,  war,  and  pestilence, 

And  here  attain  my  journey's  end  at  last, 

But  that  such  evil  deaths  were  much  too  mild 

To  gratify  the  fury  that  pursues  me ! 

I  was  reserved  for  this  last  ignominy 

As  in  despite  of  human  purposes ; 

Robbed  of  mine  honor  where  most  I  placed  my  trust 

And  reap  this  pain  where  most  I  sowed  for  peace. 

Was  it  for  this  that  I  did  marry  her? 

Was  it  for  this  I  sent  her  here  before  me? 

For  this  I  nursed  the  holy  purposes 

Of  wedded  purity,  o'ercame  the  shocks 

Of  human  destiny,  and  held  in  check 

The  inward  passions  of  the  baser  man? 

For  this— to  be  cornuted  in  mine  age 

And  die  a  by-word? 

My  purposes !    My  purposes !    O,  God ! 

Our  purposes  are  little  nine-pins 

Which  fate's  sure  aim  bowls  down  incessantly : 

As  fast  as  we  can  set  them  up,  events 

Roll  down  the  narrow  alleys  of  our  lives, 

Rumbling  like  distant  thunder  as  they  speed, 

Till  crash !  our  king-intent  is  down,  and  in 

His  fall  share  all  his  puny  retinue ! 

She  an  adulteress !    My  Hester,  whom 

I  cherished  as  my  soul !    How  I  loved  her! 

Forgotten,  like  the  meat  of  yesterday, 

Let  it  pass ! 

Henceforth,  for  me  there's  nothing  on  this  side 

Of  Hell,  but  study  of  revenge  on  him 


24  THE  SCARLET  STIGMA. 

Who  wrought  her  shame.    He  must  have  used  foul  means; 

For  she  was  ever  chaste  in  thought  and  deed. 

Hell  fiend  !    Now,  under  an  assumed  name, 

I'll  ferret  out  her  lusty  paramour ; 

Contrive  some  means  to  deeply  punish  him,  :,  i 

And  satisfy  my  fathomless  revenge.  [£xi/. 

SCENE  1 1.— Another  street.    Enter  REV.  ARTHUR  D I  MS- 
DELL,  alone. 

Dimsdell.  'Twould  do  no  good. — The  Governor  is  late, 
Or  I  have  missed  him.— Confess  ? — Disgrace  for  me  ; 
No  help  to  her ;  and  all  the  blasphemies 
That  evil  minds  could  cast  on  sacred  calling 
Would  be  my  blame.    Whereas,  I  now  can  make 
My  pleas  take  on  the  color  of  mine  office 
And  yet  reflect  on  it  a  purer  glow. — 
Why  comes  he  not?— The  path  of  righteousness, 
Though  straight,  leads  on  thro'  pleasant  fields  to  Heaven, 
Whereas  the  broad  and  easy  road  of  sin 
Splits  in  its  downward  way,  and  then  the  will 
Stands  at  a  halt  which  fork  to  take,  though  both 
Lead  on  to  Hell !    Now — why,  here  he  comes  1 
Enter  GOVERNOR,  attended. 

Governor.  Nay,  Dimsdell,  plead  no  more;  she  must  be  tried. 
1  know  what  thou  wouldst  say,  and  like  thee  for  it; 
But  think,  my  friend,  the  law  would  mock  itself 
If  pardon  did  precede  the  penalty. 

Dimsdell.  Our  Lord  did  pardon  one  was  taken  in 
The  very  act.    O,  think  of  Him  ! 

Governor.  Enough! 


I.     SCENE  III.  25 

What !  wouldst  thou  have  our  laws  contemned 
As  feeble  nets  to  catch  the  smaller  fry 
And  let  the  great  break  through  ?    1  tell  thee,  sir, 
Her  wealth,  her  beauty,  her  hitherto  fair  fame, 
Blacken  her  crime  and  make  its  punishment 
A  signal  warning  to  the  baser  sort. 

Dimsdell.  Hath  she  not  suffered  pains  and  imprisonment  ? 
Enough  to  answer  all  the  decalogue? 

Governor.  I  stand  for  law  ;  and  you,  I  think,  do  think 
You  stand  for  gospel. — Come,  we  tarry. — 
Plead  with  the  Council  for  the  woman,  and,  while 
I  think  her  death  were  well  deserved,  I'll  not 
Oppose  their  mercy  if  you  win  it. 
My  hand  upon  it.  [Going. 

Dimsdell.  If  that  she  be  condemned, 
Suspend  her  sentence  till  her  paramour 
Be  found ;  and  let  them  die  together. 

Governor.  Agreed.     Come,  we're  late.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  111.— The  Market  Tlace.— Church  with  Portico,  L. 
—A  pillory  on  a  raised  Platform,  T^.—The  GOVERNOR  and 
COUNCIL  seated  in  portico.— A  crowd  o/TOWNSFOLK. 

Governor.  Now  that  our  other  business  is  dispatched, 
Call  Hester  Prynne. 

Wilson.  Wise  Governor,  and  you, 

My  brethren :  dried  as  I  am  with  age, 
The  tendrils  of  my  heart  are  pliable; 
Nor  have  the  tangles  of  this  thicket-world 
So  twisted  all  my  grain  as  not  to  bend 
Before  another's  misery.    Wherefore, 


26  THE    SCARLET  STIGMA. 

I  do  beseech  you,  call  her  not. 

Governor.  Yet  must 

We  try  the  woman,  though  we  pity  her; 
And  though  the  scion  mercy  grafts  upon 
The  stock  of  justice,  the  stock  is  justice  still. 

Wilson.  I  plead  for  justice!  even-handed  justice! 
As  blind  and  cold  as  death — but  with  a  sword, 
Sharp  on  one  side  to  reach  the  woman's  heart 
And  on  the  other  keener  for  the  man's ! 
You  call  the  woman ;  where's  her  paramour? 

Governor.        We  do  not  know. 

Wilson.  Then  grant  a  stay  to  Hester 

Till  he's  known. 

Governor.  Too  late ;  nor  were  it  good 

To  let  the  woman  slap  the  face  of  law, 
And  not  resent  it  quickly.    Once  again, 
Call  Hester  Prynne.    The  man  she  may  discover. 

Enter  T{ev.  ARTHUR  DlMSDELL  through  crowd  and  goes  to 
Portico. 

Crier.  Hester  Prynne !     Hester  Prynne !  [Exit. 

Dimsdell.  Most  worthy  Governor,  I  am  like  one 
Who  waking  hears  the  village  clock  toll  time, 
Yet,  having  missed  the  first  few  strokes,  the  hour 
He  cannot  tell :  and  so  stand  I  and  hear 
Fair  Hester  called.     Is  it  for  trial,  or 
For  punishment? 

Governor.  For  both. 

'Dimsdell.  I  am  her  pastor  and  I  speak  for  her; 
1  would  to  God  that  I  could  plead  "  Not  guilty," 
Or  in  her  stead  could  offer  up  myself 


I.     SCENE  III.  27 

To  satisfy  the  law! 

Crowd.  How  good  he  is ! 

Dimsdell.  Gentle  and  wise  she  is,  grave  councilors, 
And  with  a  modest  meekness  goes  about 
The  daily  duties  of  her  household  care; 
Oh !  I  am  sure  no  vulgar  palate-bait 
Did  lure  her  to  this  shame,  but  some  enticement 
That  took  the  form  of  higher  nature  did 
Invest  the  hook.    For  she  is  modesty 
Itself. 

Governor.  Can  modesty,  then,  fall  like  this? 

'Dimsdell.  The  modesty  of  woman  is  like  the  blush 
Upon  a  tender  rose ;  it  is  her  treasure 
And  her  ornament:  you  cannot  touch  it, 
But  it  fades  away ;  or  breathe  upon  it, 
But  it  loses  perfume;  or  bring  it  to  the  light, 
Un  wilted. 

Governor.  True,  but  when  the  roses  fade 
We  cast  them  forth,  nor  treasure  them  again. 

'Dimsdell.  'Tis  thus  I  own;  but  we  have  higher  teaching. 
Our  Lord,  who  knew  temptation's  mighty  pow«r, 
Yet  was  himself  without  sin's  damning  stain, 
Did  pass  upon  a  case  like  this.    "  Let  him 
Who  hath  no  sin  first  cast  a  stone  at  her." 
And  then  He  said,  "  Go,  woman,  sin  no  more." 
Oh !  wondrous  grace  that  pardoned  frailty 
Which  had  not  sunk  to  vice! 

Re-enter  CRIER  with  HESTER  PRYNNE. 

Governor.  Enough!     Here  comes  the  woman. 

Hester,  thou  art  accused  before  this  court 


25  THE  SCARLET  STIGMA. 

Of  that  which  blushing  virtue  shrinks  to  name, 
Adultery. 

Hester.  I  pray  you  spare  me. 

Governor.  Thou  art  the  widow  of  a  man  of  whom 
Report  spake  only  praise:  no  act  of  thine 
Hath  openly  offended  decency, 
But  that  young  life  which  draws  its  sustenance 
From  thy  round  breast  avows  thy  hidden  shame. 

Hester.  Have  mercy  on  the  babe,  O,  God ! 

Governor.  Thatthoushouldst sin, and  thereby, Hester,bring 
Dishonor  on  the  name  thy  spouse  did  give  thee, 
Is  worse  than  in  a  meaner  woman.    If  thou 
Hast  aught  to  say  to  mitigate  the  wrath 
Of  justice,  speak.    And,  Hester,  bear  in  mind 
The  penalty  is  death  or  banishment. 

Hester.  I  would  not  gloze  my  crime,  nor  do  I  know 
How  to  address  your  worships. 
Yet  since  you  bid  me  I  will  plead  my  cause 
As  best  I  can. 

That  I  have  sinned  is  true;  and  well  I  know 
Henceforth  for  me  there's  nothing  left  from  all 
My  kind  but  scorn  and  hate. 
For  me  hath  life  no  charm  to  cheat  my  hope, 
Or  make  me  wish  to  linger  here;  yet  I 
While  lives  the  child  would  shelter  her,  the  one 
Sweet  flower  that  lovely  grows  above  the  soil 
Of  my  most  foul  debasement. 
Although  the  blossom  of  iniquity, 
She  takes  no  tinct  from  whence  she  springs,  but  rather 
Of  the  sky  toward  which  she  doth  unfold. 


I.     SCENE  III.  29 

Believe  me,  sirs, 

But  for  my  babe's  dear  love,  I'd  ask  for  death 

To  rid  me  quickly  of  my  misery: 

For  love  itself,  dishonored  in  my  being, 

Turns  all  the  gentle  cords  that  bind  affection 

Into  hard-knotted  thongs  to  whip  me  hence. 

Therefore,  if  I  do  plead  for  life,  think  not 

I  do  beseech  a  favor  for  myself, 

But  rather,  that  I  beg  a  lingering  pain, 

Than  expiate  in  one  quick-ending  pang 

The  sum  of  all  my  loathed  wickedness. 

Thus,  for  my  tender  babe,  I  ask  my  life, 

And,  for  myself,  1  do  implore  you  now, 

Banish  me  not. 

As  for  my  crime,  I  have  repented  it 

Most  bitterly;  yea,  I've  suffered  anguish 

From  the  very  hour  when,  as  the  spring 

Of  nature  dragged  my  anchors  loose,  the  soft 

Entreaty  of  a  lover's  sigh  did  blow 

Concurrent  with  my  tide,  and  swept  me  out 

Into  a  troubled  sea. 

Now,  battered  on  the  rocks  of  hard  opinions, 

My  most  untimely  wreck  is  quite  complete; 

Yet  spare  the  hulk  for  that  dear  freight  it  bore. 

Governor.         Woman,  I  pity  thee;  now,  while  our  laws 
Are  strict,  yet  may  our  mercy  show  itself 
In  staving  off  the  penalty,  if  thou 
Wilt  aid  us. 

Hester.  Your  mercy  comes  with  hard  condition ; 
For  how  can  I,  who  stand  here  helpless, 


30  THE  SCARLET  STIGMA. 

Aid  you  who  have  all  power? 

Governor.  Tell  us  who  is  thy  paramour? 

Hester.  That  I  will  not  do. 

Governor.  Thou  art  most  obstinate.    What  say  you  nowr 
Grave  councilors?    Need  we  delay  the  sentence? 

Branson.  Quick  to  forgive  and  slow  in  condemnation, 
Would  be  our  wisest  course  in  such  a  case. 
The  life  she  hath  God  gave ;  we  should  not  take  it ; 
Nor  should  we  banish  her,  for  she  is  useful, 
And  with  her  needle  doth  assist  the  poor. 
There  is  provision  in  our  law  to  fit 
This  crime  when  neither  death  nor  banishment 
Is  proper.     It  is  :  [Reading]  "Th3  adulteress  shall  stand: 
Upon  the  pillory;  and  on  her  breast 
Shall  wear  a  scarlet  letter  A,  to  mark 
Her  criminal  incontinence." 

Governor.  A  good 

Suggestion  truly;  we  had  forgot  the  clause 
From  long  disuse.    What  say  you? 

Ward.  \  think  it  wise. 

^Arnold.  'Twill  be  more  merdfuL 

Langdon.  A  living  warning  'gainst  adultery. 

*All.  It  is  our  suffrage. 

Governor.  So  be  it  then. 

Hester,  thou  art  to  stand  upon  the  pillory 
A  little  while,  and  wear  upon  thy  breast 
The  Scarlet  Letter  "A"  forever; 
This  see  thou  do  on  pain  of  instant  death 
Or  banishment.    Hath  anyone  a  piece 
Of  scarlet  cloth  ? 


I.     SCENE  III.  31 

'Bronson.  I  have  the  letter  here  prepared. 
Governor.  Clerk,  affix  the  letter  to  her  breast. 

Enter  ROGER  PRYNNE,  clad  as  in  Scene  L—He  keeps  to  the 
rear  of  Hester* 

Now,  Jailer,  lead  her  to  the  pillory, 
There  let  her  stand  unbound. 

Hester  ascends  steps  to  pillory  platform. 

Dimsdell,  you  are  her  pastor,  speak  to  her. 
Hold  up  her  sin  before  her  eyes,  and  warn 
The  multitude  by  her  example. 

Dimsdell.  1  beg  you,  sir,  let  Dr.  Wilson  speak. 

Wilson.  Nay,  Dimsdell.    Nay,  the  charge  is  yours. 
Speak  on.    And  plead  that  she  disclose  the  man 
Who  was  her  paramour. 

Dimsdell.  I  pray  you  pardon  me.     I  am  not  well. 

Governor.  Not  well  ?    'Tis  but  compassion  weakens  thee. 
Speak  man  \  thy  words  are  gentlest  and  will  draw 
Her  secret  from  her,  though  ours  do  seal  her  lips. 
Proceed,  Dimsdell. 

Dimsdell.  We  wrong  her  nature  when  we  seek  to  know 
That  which  her  heart  doth  teach  her  to  conceal ; 
Yet  at  your  bidding  will  I  plead  with  her. 

Goes  over  to  pillory. 

Hester,  look  down  upon  me ;  let  thine  ear 
Receive  my  meaning  with  the  sound  I  make ; 
Behold  in  me  the  body  of  the  Council, 
Not  me  alone ;  and  hear  my  words  as  though 
The  general  voice,  speaking  in  concert  true, 


32  THE  SCARLET  STIGMA. 

Did  intone  them. 

For  it  were  vain  presumption  to  expect 
That,  what  the  Governor  could  not  extract, 
My  words  alone  could  move  thee  to  disclose. 

Roger.  A  modest  gentleman,  truly  ! 

TXmsdell.  Upon  thy  sin  I  dwell  not;  the  penalty 
Which  thou  dost  suffer  preaches  repentance  ; 
And  in  thy  nature  there  is  naught  to  lead  thee 
Twice  astray. 

There's  not  an  eye  that  now  doth  look  upon  thee 
But  pities  thee,  and  doubt  thou  not,  if  he 
Who  wronged  thee  is  present  here,  his  heart  is  wrung 
With  bitterest  remorse.    Wilt  speak  his  name? 

Hester.  I  will  not. 

Dimsdell.  I  do  command  thee  by  the  Commonwealth;, 
1  do  entreat  thee  for  thy  reputation, 
1  do  implore  thee  for  thy  soul's  salvation, 
Give  up  his  name. 

Hester.  I  would  not  breathe  his  name  to  anyone  •, 
Nay,  not  to  him  who  was  my  husband,  though 
The  sea  should  cast  him  up  to  question  me. 

Roger.  Woman,  who  did  seduce  thee? 

Hester.  \  keep  my  vow. 

'Dimsdell.  Hester,  deceive  thyself  no  more ;  look  down 
Upon  me  once  again.    Believe  me,  Hester, 
No  pain  the  world  could  now  inflict  would  harm 
Thy  recreant  lover.    To  see  thee  here  set  up 
The  target  of  a  thousand  curious  eyes, 
Thy  beauties  blistered  in  the  noonday  sun, 
Thy  gentle  breast  seared  with  yon  scarlet  letter, 


I.     SCENE  III.  33 

Would  burn  that  image  on  his  soul.    Have  mercy, 
Hester,  forgive  his  cowardice,  do  thou 
Act  for  him  ;  pronounce  his  name  and  let  him  die 
To  satisfy  his  crime. 

Hester.  \  will  not  drag  him  down  with  me. 

Roger.  Oh!  glorious  generosity  misplaced! 

Dimsdell.  Your  generosity  hath  led  you  once 
Astray ;  do  not  allow  it  now  to  aid 
Him  in  hypocrisy.    For,  Hester,  you, 
Who  know  his  weaknesses  and  aspirations, 
His  station  in  his  calling,  his  place  in  life 
Among  us,  will  be  a  party  to  deception 
If  now  you  hide  his  name. 

Hester.  I  answer  to  my  God.    No  man  shall  know 
That  which  is  only  known  to  me  and  him. 
But  speak  thou  on  his  crime ! 

"Dimsdell.  Ho !  all  ye  people  of  the  commonwealth  ! 
Behold !— let  him  confess !— O,  Hester  !  speak  !— 
I  see— no  more —  [Dinisdell  falls. 

Throng,  confused  and  amazed,  closes  around  Dimsdell. 
Crits  of  horror  and  apprehension. 

Governor.  Look  to  our  brother  Dimsdell.    He  faints  ; 
The  heat  hath  overcome  him. 

Roger.  \  am  a  doctor.    Make  room ! 

The  falling  sickness.    Give  us  breathing  space ! 

Governor.  Hester,  thou  art  discharged.     Let  all  go  home ! 

{Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I. — Interior  of  Hester's  home.  Furniture  Dutch* 
English ,  comfortable  and  handsome.  Windows  draped  in  scarlet- 
fringed  curtains  with  scarlet  cross-cords, simulating  the  letter1' A. ' ' 
Rich  needle  work  in  the  hangings  and  other  accessories.  A 
cradle  L.,  near  it  a  table  with  a  quarto  Bible.  HESTER  dis 
covered  bending  over  cradle,  then  sits  R.  C.  and  takes  up  a  piece 
of  embroidery  {the  letter  "A"  in  scarlet  on  a  dark  background}. 

Hester.  God  bless  the  little  darling,  how  she  sleeps ! 
Had  I  but  thought  that  all  my  heart  would  beat 
Within  the  tender  compass  of  her  arms, 
1  had  not  prayed  she  might  not  be.    But  now, 
Although  unasked  she  came,  unasked  she  brought 
A  wealth  of  love  and  blessing  to  my  soul. 

[Sits  and  embroiders.] 

Thus  Providence,  although  it  pierce  the  heart, 
Works  into  it  some  glorious  design ; 
Which  on  this  under  side  of  life  is  blurred, 
Thread  over  thread  in  infinite  confusion. 
Or,  if  we  are  not  made  of  firmest  texture, 
The  work  pulls  through,  or  tears  an  ugly  rent, 
Or  gathers  up  our  woof  in  meshy  tangles. 
This  is  a  world  of  worn  and  fretted  ends, 


//.     SCENE  I.  35 

Knit  in  a  maze  of  fearful  intricacy, 

Wherein  we  see  no  meaning.     Nor  can  we  know 

The  hidden  shuttles  of  Eternity, 

That  weave  the  endless  web  of  living,  loving, 

And  begetting,  whereby  a  filament 

Of  earth  takes  on  the  likeness  of  an  angel. 

The  primal  burden  of  our  race-existence, 

Mankind's  perpetual  perpetuation, 

Weighs  on  weak  womanhood;  we  bear  the  race 

And  all  its  natural  ills,  yet  still  our  fellows, 

Who  proudly  call  themselves  our  lords  and  masters, 

Do  heap  upon  us  petty  wrongs,  and  load 

Us  down  with  their  oppressions.     I  cannot  tell 

What  rich  reward  my  suffering  may  bring, 

But  bide  the  piercing,  like  this  patient  cloth, 

In  hope  the  needle  carries  golden  thread. 

Enter  a  Maid-Servant. 
What  is  it? 

Servant.  Madam,  a  gentleman  would  speak  with  you. 

Hester,  Bid  him  enter.  [Exit  Servant. 

Methought  I  heard  my  husband's  dreaded  voice 
Speak  to  me  on  the  pillory.    What 
If  he  lives,  or  hath  arisen  from  the  dead 
To  reckon  with  me  now?    Well,  let  him  come; 
For  this  strong  heart  outcast  from  sympathy 
Hath  turned  back  on  itself  in  double  strength ; 
And  all  the  puny  woman  of  my  mind, 
Burned  in  the  furnace  of  my  sex's  scorn, 
Plunged  in  the  icy  vat  of  love's  neglect, 
Hath  tempered  hard.    I  fear  him  not. 


36  THE   SCARLET  STIGMA. 

Enter  ROGER  PRYNNE,  shaved,  and  dressed  as  a 

doctor  of  medicine. 
Roger  himself! 

Roger.  Thou  didst  provide  snug  quarters,  Hester,  against 
my  coming.  Aye,  and  hast  furnished  them  better  than  I 
bade  thee. 

Hester.  The  cost  was  small ;  my  needle  and  my  energy— 

Roger.  Have  done  the  work ;  yea,  and  supplied  the  cradle 
also.  Ah!  'tis  a  brave  piece  of  work;  very  beautiful  and 
delicate;  the  lusty  offspring  of  lustful  parents.  Somewhat 
costly,  I  should  think,  and  asked  some  pains.  Methinks, 
thou  hadst  some  help  with  that;  or  was  it  thy  needle  or  thy 
energy  which  wrought  this  dainty  bit? 

Hester.  Touch  not  the  child;  'tis  mine,  thou  hast  no  part 
in  it. 

Roger.  Too  true.  But  calm  thyself.  I  have  not  harmed 
the  brat,  nor  did  I  touch  it.  [Looking  around.]  I  like  thy 
taste,  Hester.  A  handsome  house  to  hold  a  handsome 
woman. 

Hester.  The  house  is  thine;  let  me  and  my  babe  depart. 

Roger.  Nay,  keep  the  house,  'twill  shelter  you ;  I  do  not 
need  it. 

Hester.  I  will  not  have  it. 

Roger.  Will  not,  Madam  Hester,  is  a  strong  word  to  use 
to  your  wedded  lord  and  master.    I  say  you  shall ;  yea,  and, 
furthermore,  here  is  provision  for  the  child  and  thee. 
[Throwing purse  upon  the  table.] 

Hester.  Take  up  thy  purse.  I  who  have  done  thee  wrong 
will  not  henceforth  eat  thy  bread. 

Roger.  Wrong,  Hester.    Done  me  wrong?   Wronged  me? 


//.     SCENE  /.  37 

Nay,  Hester,  wronged  thyself;  wronged  thine  innocent 
babe;  wronged  the  world;  wronged  whom  thou  wilt,  but 
not  wronged  me!  To  wake  me  from  a  doting  dream — that 
was  not  wrong!  A  dream  of  woman's  purity  and  inno 
cence  ;  a  foolish  dream  of  married  happiness  between  thy 
youth  and  my  decrepitude;  to  put  an  end  to  such  a  mad 
ness,  surely  was  not  wrong!  Wronged  me?  Thy  levity 
hath  righted  my  poor  mind,  which,  pondering  o'er  thy  beau 
ties,  listed  to  one  side. 

Hester.  Oh!  pardon  me! 

Roger.  Pardon  thee?  yea,  why  should  I  not?  I  do  pardon 
thee;  yea,  more,  I  do  applaud  thine  act.  Thou  wast  no 
slothful  servant;  thou  didst  not  fear  the  coming  of  thy  lord ; 
thou  puttest  all  to  use  and  gottest  cent  per  cent.  Therefore, 
the  care  I  show  for  thee  is  hire  and  wages ;  it  is  thy  due, 
accept  it  freely. 

Hester.  Let  me  and  my  babe  depart.  Receive  thy  money 
and  thy  house,  I  can  take  nothing  from  thee.  Ah !  if  I  could 
I  would  return  thee  every  penny  I  have  spent  of  thine. 

Roger.  Wait  till  I  ask  thee  to  account.  What!  am  I  so 
old,  and  yet  not  know  the  cost  of  dalliance?  Nothing 
dearer.  And  he  who  eared  my  field  during  my  absence, 
being  now,  in  thy  abasement,  so  chary  of  his  presence,  spent 
little  of  his  gold,  I'll  warrant.  Who  is  he,  Hester? 

Hester.  Thou  shalt  never  know. 

Roger.  Never's  a  long  word,  Hester;  it  stretches  beyond 
the  judgment  into  eternity.  Come,  I'll  know  him  then, 
tell  me  now. 

Hester.  He  is  a  scholar  and  can  cope  with  thee ;  thou  canst 
not  find  him. 


38  THE   SCARLET  STIGMA. 

Roger.  If  he  do  walk  the  earth,  I'll  find  him  out;  if  he  be 
now  in  Hell,  I'll  follow  him;  where'er  he  be,  his  peace  is 
forfeited  and  I  will — 

Hester.  What  wilt  thou  do  to  him? 

Roger.  Nothing,  Hester,  nothing.  I  merely  wish  to  thank 
him  for  the  love  he  showed  thee  during  my  absence,  whereby 
thou  didst  mourn  for  me  the  less. 

Hester.  Thou  wilt  not  kill  him? 

Roger.  What  a  silly  thing  thou  hast  become,  now  thou 
hast  left  the  path  of  virtue!  Do  I  kill  thee?  Am  I  danger 
ous?  Is  there  force  in  this  withered  body  to  harm  a  lusty 
knave,  a  brave  seducer  of  ripe  womanhood? 

Hester.  Nay,  do  not  harm  him. 

Roger.  At  thy  request,  mistress. 

Hester.  The  fault  was  mine. 

Roger.  No  doubt  'twas  thine  alone. 

Hester.  Wreak  vengeance  then  on  me  alone. 

Roger.  I  have  none. 

Hester.  I  would  I  could  believe  thee. 

Roger.  As  well  give  faith  to  me  as  him.  But,  truly,  Hester, 
1  had  thought  these  puritans,  these  pilgrim  fathers,  had  left 
all  fleshly  lusts  behind  them  with  their  vanities  in  England. 
He  must  be  a  rare  bird  In  these  parts — O,  I  shall  know  him 
by  his  plumage! 

Hester.  He's  safe  enough'. 

Roger.  Perhaps,  but  then  these  pdachers,  who  fish  in 
others'  ponds,  are  proud  of  their  achievements.  They  will 
talk.  They  brag  in  their  cups  and  strut  and  ogle  when 
they're  sober. 

Hester.  I'll  warn  him  of  thee. 


JICT  II.    SCENE  I.  39 

Roger.  Thou  wilt  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  But  come, 
Hester,  man  and  wife  ought  not  to  quarrel.  Let  us  set  a  good 
example  to  the  world  in  peace  if  not  in  chastity.  Sit  you 
here  and  listen  to  me. 

Hester.  Well? 

Roger.  Hester,  I  loved  thee  when  thou  wast  a  babe, 
A  prattling  child  no  taller  than  my  knee, 
A  pretty  little  innocent,  a  tot 
That  wavered  in  its  walk  and  won  my  heart 
By  tender  trustfulness.    Thou  'dt  leave  thy  father, 
Mother,  all,  to  nestle  in  these  arms 
The  whiles  I  told  some  worn  out  fairy  tale, 
Or  sang  of  Robin  Hood. 
That  was  before  thy  mind  did  take  its  shape, 
And  subsequent  events  have  blotted  out 
All  memories  of  thy  babyhood. 

Hester.  Nay,  but  I  do  recall,  as  in  a  haze, 
Some  of  the  incidents  of  infancy. 

Roger.  Perhaps.    Hester,  thou  wast  the  dearest  child 
That  ever  blest  fond  parents,  unfolding  sweet 
Thy  mother's  beauties  and  thy  father's  strength. 
And  canst  thou  now  remember  who  made  himself 
A  child  to  play  with  thee  vain,  foolish  games; 
Who  taught  thee  out  of  books  such  lessons  as 
Thy  little  mind  could  grasp? 

Hester.  It  was  thou. 

Roger.  Then,  as  thou  didst  grow  toward  womanhood, 
Some  fifteen  springs,  thy  gentle  mother  died; 
A  woman  beautiful  and  pure,  as  sweetly 
Ignorant  of  all  her  charms  asjs 
The  hyacinth. 


40  THE  SCARLET  STIGMA. 

Hester.  Mother!    Mother! 

Roger.  Pray  God  the  saints  see  nothing  here  on  earth : 
Or  else  that  in  their  golden  paradise 
Some  sleepy  potion  dull  their  sympathies 
With  us:  for  who  could  look  upon  this  world, 
And  see  mankind  divested  of  the  lies 
That  make  our  comeliness;  or,  with  an  eye  undimmed? 
Behold  the  brutal  tragedies  of  life  ; 
And  yet  find  happiness  or  peace  in  Heaven? 
Hell's  flames  would  reach  unto  the  tree  of  life 
Itself  and  singe  thy  mother's  heart,  if  she 
Could  see  that  scarlet  letter  on  thy  breast. 
[Hester  covers  her  face  and  moans.'} 
Great  God!  what  thread  of  continuity 
Doth  string  the  whirling  incidents  of  life? 
This  woman  was  that  maid  whose  purity 
Excelled  imagination's  greatest  reach  ; 
Whose  happiness  sang  ever  like  the  lark 
Arising  from  the  earth  to  soar  in  Heaven ! 
And  now  behold  her  dyed  in  scarlet  sin, 
Branded  with  infamy,  and  moaning  here 
In  deepest  anguish ! 

Nay,  come;  let  out  thy  grief  in  linked  words,, 
For  this  tooth-gated  dumb  remorse  will  herd 
Thy  thoughts  until  they  gore  each  other. 
Hester,  thy  strength  is  greater  than  to  yield 
Thus  to  thy  misery;  do  not  lash 
Thy  heart  into  a  fury;  never  blow 
The  tiny  sparks  of  pain 
Into  the  flaming  coals  of  Hell. 


II.     SCENE  /.  41 

That  sinning  soul  is  traitor  to  itself 

That  leagues  its  bruised  thoughts  with  imps  of  Hell 

To  torture  conscience. 

Hester.  Leave  me,  1  pray  you. 

Roger.  Not  yet,  else  were  my  visit  bootless. 
Hester,  I  will  not  dwell  upon  thy  life 
From  year  to  year,  nor  drag  thy  colliered  soul 
Back  to  its  days  of  spotless  innocence. 
Thy  father's  amity  for  me,  thou  knowest, 
And  how,  upon  his  death,  I  stood  toward  thee 
In  place  of  parents. 

Hester.  Would  you  had  remained  a  father  to  me  ! 

Roger.  I  loved  thee,  Hester;  daughter,  sister,  sweetheart, 
You  were  to  me.    And  you  did  love  me  too, 
And  as  an  elder  brother  looked  on  me 
In  gentle  confidence. 

So  did  the  years  post  by  in  th'  dim  afterglow 
That  comes  to  aged  men;  while  love  with  thee 
Was  in  the  dawning;  a  tender  sky  with  both 
Of  us,  my  sun  already  set ;  and  thine 
Not  yet  arisen ;  nor  did  it  ever  rise 
To  shine  on  me,  fool  that  1  was! 

Hester.  1  never  loved  you,  should  not  have  married  you ; 
Knew  nothing  then  of  love  except  the  name. 

Roger.  Aye,  you  loved  me,  and  you  loved  me  not; 
Hester,  I  wronged  thee  when  I  married  thee; 
The  fault  was  mine,  old  as  I  was,  to  hope 
To  still  the  sweet  necessities  of  youth 
With  passionless  love;  nature  demands  her  due, 
And  we  should  know,  while  love  may  grow  at  home, 


42  THE  SCARLET  STIGMA. 

Passion  requires  some  novelty. 

Hester.  We  both  have  done  foul  wrong  unto  each  other, 
And,  as  this  world  doth  judge,  mine  is  the  greater. 

Roger.  Yet  thou  wast  tempted  by  thy  youth,  my  absence, 
A  handsome  lover's  importunity: 
But  what  can  be  said  for  me,  old  as  I  was, 
To  drive  and  badger  thy  chaste  ignorance 
To  marry  mine  infirmities? 

Hester.  How  can  I  right  this  wrong? 

Roger.  And  wouldst  thou  if  thou  couldst? 

Hester.  Aye,  if  I  could ;  but  yet  these  broken  lives, 
Cracked  by  my  fall,  no  putty  will  make  whole. 

Roger.  Yet  canst  thou  veil  my  ruin,  and  o'er  me  hang 
The  drapery  of  silence.    Dost  consent? 

Hester.  Aye,  but  how? 

Roger.  But  swear  to  me  thou  wilt  conceal  my  name, 
Nor  ever  claim  relationship  with  me, 
Until  Ibidthee. 

Hester.  Wherefore  the  vow? 

Roger.  Because  I  wish  it; 
Perhaps,  because  I  would  not  bear  the  scorn, 
The  petty  taunts,  the  contumelious  looks, 
That  ever  greet  the  cuckold  husband. 

Hester.  Then  will  I  take  the  oath. 

Roger.  Swear  by  the  book,  and  also  by  the  babe, 
Never  to  breathe  my  rightful  name; 
Never  to  claim  me  as  thy  husband; 
Never  to  leave  this  place. 

Hester.  Wherefore  not  leave  the  place? 

Roger.  Swear,  woman,  swear! 


c/fC7  //.     SCENE  //.  43 

Never  to  leave  this  place,  until  I  bid  thee. 

Hester.  \  swear  to  all  these  things. 

Roger.  Swear  once  again ;  never  to  tell  thy  paramour 
Thy  husband  lives  and  walks  these  streets. 

Hester.  1  swear  to  keep  thy  counsel  as  I  have  kept 
His  and  mine  own. 

Roger.  Remember  then,  from  this  time  on,  my  name 
Is  Chillingworth,  no  longer  Prynne,  for  that 
1  will  not  bear.    [Going]     Hester,  farewell. 
Yet  ere  1  go,  Hester,  behold  my  mind: 
I  love  thee  still ;  but  with  a  chastened  heart 
Made  wise  by  sorrow.    Day  after  day,  as  thou 
Dost  wend  thy  way  about  this  mazy  world, 
My  care  will  shield  thee  and  thy  little  babe. 
Do  not  repulse  it.    1  have  no  hope  that  thou 
Wilt  think  of  me  without  revulsion ; 
Then  hate  me  if  thou  must;  but  spare  the  thought 
That  ever  thou  didst  take  my  hateful  kisses, 
Or  clasp  those  soft  warm  arms  about  my  thin, 
Cold  carcass. 

Do  not  despise  thy  beauties  that  I  once 
Did  own  them.    Forget  it,  Hester,  for  such  a  marriage 
Was  my  infamy,  and  I  it  was 
Who  sinned  against  thy  youth.    Farewell!  [Exit. 

SCENE  II. — A  Churchyard.  A  bell  ringing  for  service. 
Groups  of  people  standing  about.  Persons  cross  stage  and  enter 
church  door  on  extreme  L. 

Bronson.  They  say  the  Reverend  Master  Dimsdell  hath 
Recovered  from  his  fainting  fit,  and  will, 


44  THE  SCARLET  STIGMA. 

God  willing,  preach  to  us  this  afternoon. 

Langdon.  Aye,  that  he  will. 

Arnold.  But  hath  he  come? 

Ward.  Not  yet ; 

He's  late,  but,  whether  here  or  elsewhere, 
He's  always  doing  good. 

Branson.  -         A  kindly  man ! 

His  feet  do  tread  th'  o'ergrown  path  that  leads     • 
Unto  the  poor  man's  door.  s.±-y\  ij>>i 

Langdon.  •  Aye,  that  they  do !    . 

And,  in  the  darkened  hour  of  mortal  grief, 
His  presence  like  a  lamp  gives  light  and  hope. 

Arnold.  His  charity  exceeds  all  human  bounds, 
And,  though  he's  blameless  in  himself,  knows  how    ;  <.*> 
To  pardon  others.  .1'.  J 

Ward.  Aye,  that  he. doth  !    Didst  note 

His  plea  for  Hester  Prynne  upon  her  trial  ? 

Langdon.  Aye,  that  I  did!    .  I  ...*•. 

Ward.          -'12  .      .    .    .  But  know  the  goodness  of  it ! 
He  was  her  constant  friend  up  to  the  time 
Her  wantonness  declared  itself,  and  then 
He  left  her  lonely,  as  though  that  punishment 
Were  all  a  man  of  mercy  could  inflict. 

Arnold.  He  takes  it  much  to  heart  that  wanton  vice 
Hath  found  a  nest  within  his  congregation. 

Langdon.  That  grief  is  truly  great  with  him  ;  but  yet 
He  will  not  hear  a  word  against  her.— Look ! 
For  here  she  comes. 
How  bravely  doth  she  wear  her  scarlet  letter ! 


II.     SCENE  II.  45 

Enter  HESTER  PRYNNE  alone;  walks  proudly,  with  slow  steps, 
to  porch  and  enters  church;  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the 
left,  but  straight  before  her,  with  her  head  up.  fPeople  turn  to 
look  at  her,  but  no  one  speaks. 

First  Woman.  The  brazen  thing ! 

Second  Woman.  Didst  note  the  fashion  of  her  badge  of  vice, 
And  how  she's  turned  it  into  ornament?  .  , 

Third  Woman.  A  handy  woman  with  her  needle. 

First  Woman.  Let's  in  and  stare  her  out  of  countenance. 

[Exeunt  Women, 

Enter  GOVERNOR  BELLINGHAM  and  ROGER  PRYNNE, 
called  Doctor  Chillingworth . 

Governor.  Now,  as  I  told  you,  there  hath  lately  come, 
But  how  I  know  not,  a  change  in. him  so  rare, 
It  baffles  cure. 

Roger.  I  think  you  said  he  is 

A  very  studious  man? 

Governor.  Aye,  that  he  is. 

Good  evening,  gentlemen. 

All.  Your  worship. 

Roger.        I  pray  you,  tell  me  more. 

Governor.  Nay,  use  your  eyes, 

For  here  he  is. 

Enter  REV.  ARTHUR  DlMSDELL.   People  uncover  as  he  passes. 
He  salutes  them  gravely  and  generally. 

Dimsdell,  a  word  with  you. 

Dimsdell.  Good  evening,  gentlemen. 

Governor.  Dimsdell,  here  is  good  Doctor  Chillingworth, 
Who  tended  thee.    I  hope- you  gentlemen 


46  THE   SCARLET  STIGMA. 

Will  prize  each  other  at  your  native  worths. 

Dimsdell.  1  shall  be  glad  to  know  you  better,  Doctor. 

Roger.  And  I,  to  see  you  better,  sir. 

Dimsdell.  Pardon  me,  1  must  in;  I'm  late  already. 

Exit  Dimsdell — all  follow  except  Governor  Bellingham  and 
Roger  Pryntie.     'Bell  ceases. 

Governor.  How  weak  a  hold  we  have  on  health !  That  man 
Is  but  the  standing  ruin  of  his  former  self, 
And  yet,  for  beauty,  comeliness  and  grace, 
He  still  is  model  to  the  colony. 
What  do  you  think,  can  care  restore  him  yet, 
And  give  him  to  us  as  he  used  to  be? 

Roger.  \  cannot  tell.    I  need  more  knowledge  of  him. 
There  are  no  marks  of  cureless  malady— 
A  faint  suggestion  of  overwatchfulness, 
That  oft  points  out  the  student — nothing  more. 

Hymn  from  church.     (Tune:  "  Ein'  feste  Burg  "  or  other 
ancient  hymn  used  by  the  Puritans.) 

Governor.  The  worship  hath  begun ;  but,  ere  we  in, 
A  word  about  the  wealth  you  left  with  me. 

Roger.  No  more.    Pray  use  it  as  your  own,  in  trade, 
Or  howsoe'er  you  choose.    The  largest  pearl 
An  Indian  chief  did  give  me;  but  sell  it  with 
The  rest,  and  with  their  worth  provide  for  Hester. 
She  is  the  widow  of  mine  ancient  friend, 
To  whom  1  ever  shall  be  much  indebted, 
And  while  I  would  not  have  her  know  me  yet 
As  what  I  am — her  husband's  friend  and  hers— 
As  that  might  breed  more  grief  in  her,  or  wake 


II.     SCENE  HI.  47 

An  old  one— yet  I  think  it  meet  to  care 
For  her  and  for  her  child. 

Governor.  Your  goodness  is 

Your  passport,  Doctor.    Come,  let  us  in.— Nay, 
After  you ;  you  are  my  guest.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— Bed  room  of  the  REV.  ARTHUR  DlMSDELL. 
Night.     DlMSDELL,  alone  in  the  dark. 

Dimsdell.  O,  she  is  beautiful ! 
The  memory  of  her  loveliness 
Pervades  my  waking  dreams,  and,  pleasant  theft, 
Deprives  my  sleep  of  dark  oblivion. 
And  thus,  while  fleeing  from  the  gentle  bonds 
Of  love,  I  am  become  the  thrall  of  passion, 
And  sigh  my  heart  away  in  waste  desire! 
Had  I  but  truly  loved  her, 
Would  not  our  joys,  that  then  were  innocent, 
Have  moulded  soul  to  soul  and  made  mine  take 
The  form  of  her  most  dear  perfections? 
But,  now! 

No  trait  of  Hester's  noble  purity 
Remains  with  guilty  me,  for  I  purloined 
Her  precious  diadem  and  like  a  rogue 
I  cast  that  crown  away,  afraid  to  wear 
What  would  have  been  my  dearest  ornament. 
Why  can  I  not  repent?    Or  is  it  true 
Repentance  is  denied  the  hypocrite? 
And  must  it  then  forever  be  that,  though 
I  cast  out  sin,  both  root  and  branch,  the  seed 
Of  evil,  scattered  long  ago,  will  sprout 


48  THE  SCARLET  STIGMA. 

And  bloom  carnation  thoughts  that  dull  the  soul 

With  subtle  sweetness! 

Oh !  coward  that  I  am ! 

Bound  down,  as  to  a  rock,  to  form  and  place, 

By  iron  chains  of  worldly  precedent, 

While  my  desires  like  eagles  tear  my  breast, 

And  make  of  me  a  base  Prometheus. 

O,  God ! 

I  married  all  the  family  of  sins, 

When  1  espoused  the  pleasantest;  I  am 

Become  a  liar  through  my  lechery, 

A  thief  of  reputation  through  my  cowardice, 

And — puh!  the  rest  but  follow  in  the  train 

Of  my  dear  wedded  crime! 

O,  God!  and  shall  this  lust  burn  on  in  me 

Still  unconsumed?    Can  flagellation,  fasting, 

Nor  fervent  prayer  itself,  not  cleanse  my  soul 

From  its  fond  doting  on  'her  comeliness?       • 

Oh!  heaven!  is  there  no  way  for  me  to  jump 

My  middle  age  and  plunge  this  burning  heart 

Into  the  icy  flood  of  cold  decay? 

None?    O,  wretched  state  of  luxury! 

This  hot  desire  grows  even  in  its  death 

And  from  its  ashes  doth  arise  full  fledged 

Renewed  eternally ! 

A  blinding  flash  of  lightning,  followed  quickly  by  sharp  thunder, 

discloses  Dimsdell  kneeling  at  his  couch,  and  also 

shows  SATAN — an  archangel  with  bat 

wings — who  has  just  entered. 
Have  mercy  upon  me,  O,  my  God,  have  mercy! 


II.     SCENE  III.  49 

According  to  thy  gentle  lovingkindness, 

According  to  the  multitude  of  all 

Thy  tender  mercies,  blot  out  my  foul  transgression. 

Purge  me  with  hyssop,  and  I  shall  be  clean ; 

Wash  me,  and  1  shall  be  whiter  than  snow; 

Hide  thy  face  from  my  sins,  and  blot  out 

All  mine  iniquities. 

Satan.  You  mar  the  psalm,  Sir  priest,  for  you  omit 
The  saving  clause.    Your  sin  is  unconfessed. 

Dtmsdell.  Who  art  thou  that  durst  interpose  between 
My  soul  and  God? 

Satan.  I  am  the  stronger  part  of  lower  nature, 
The  worser  part  of  all  that  came  from  Him 
Whom  all  adore.    Behold  me! 

Satan  becomes  -visible  by  light  emanating  from  himself. 

Dimsdell.  Thou  art  Satan!    The  Prince  of  Hell! 

Satan.  I  am  so  called. 

Dimsdell.  Get  thee  hence!    I  am  a  minister 
Of  God,  a  priest,  and  am  anointed  of  the  Lord 
To  teach  His  children. 

Satan.  And,  therefore,  am  I  come  to  thee,  Sir  priest. 
I  do  confess  a  predilection  for 
Thy  calling;  conclaves,  synods,  convocations, 
Are  never  held  without  my  guiding  presence; 
They  are  my  field  days  and  my  exercises, 
While  in  the  study  and  the  cell  I  take 
My  cloistered  ease.    I  love  all  priests  and  am 
The  bosom  friend  of  many  who  would  blush 
To  speak  to  me  in  public.    Receive  me,  brother. 


50  THE   SCARLET  STIGMA. 

Dimsdell.  Scorner,  avaunt!    Sink  to  the  hell  from  whence 
Thou  cam'st!     I  do  abhor  thee,  Satan ;  yea, 
I  tell  thee  to  thy  face  that  I  who  quail 
Before  the  awful  majesty  of  God, 
And  cowardly  do  hide  my  sin  from  man, 
I  tell  thee,  vile  as  I  am,  1  do  detest 
Thy  very  name !     I  do  defy  thee ! 

Satan.  These  words  are  very  brave ;  if  more  than  wind, 
Go  to  the  market  place  tomorrow,  there 
Proclaim  thy  vice;  or  else  ascend  thy  pulpit 
And  denounce  thyself  as  what  thou  art,  adulterer. 

Dimsdell.  Recreant  to  my  God  am  I ;  think'st  thou 
That  I  will  thee  obey,  to  whom  1  owe 
No  deep  allegiance? 

Satan.  Then  bare  thy  sinful  breast,  for  here  I  swear, 
By  that  dread  Name  which  mortals  cannot  hear, 
1  will  upon  thee  print  a  mark,  the  stigma 
Of  thy  secret  crime. 

Dimsdell.  Hold  off !    I  charge  thee  by  that  other  Name 
Of  Him  who  rent  thy  kingdom,  and  will  destroy  it, 
Touch  me  not  yet ! 

Almighty  Purity,  Dread  Essence  Increate ; 
Behold  concentrate,  in  this  wicked  form, 
The  universal  spirit  of  iniquity. 
Come  quickly  in  thy  majesty,  O  Lord ! 
Wither  him  here  within  the  awful  flame 
Of  Thy  bright  Holiness!    Shrivel  his  frame 
Into  an  atom,  and  blow  the  lifeless  dust 
Beyond  the  farthest  star. 
And,  if  in  his  destruction  my  soul  should  share 


11.     SCENE  III.  51 

Through  close  proximity,  spare  not! 

Then  will  Thy  servants  serve  Thee,  Gracious  Lord! 

And  mankind  find  its  paradise! 

Satan.  That  was  well  said! 
Perhaps,  Sir  priest,  you  now  will  treat  me  to 
A  learned  disquisition  on  the  birth 
Of  evil?    I'd  like  to  hear  it,  if  it  tread 
Beyond  theology's  well  beaten  path; 
But,  if  it  stumbles  in  the  pug-mill  round 
Of  teleology,  you  must  excuse  me. 

Dimsdtll.  Base  siege  of  scorn  !     I  curse  thee  ! 

Satan.  Curses  but  belch  foul  wind,  they  pass  beyond  me. 
But,  come ;  I  have  no  time  to  waste  with  thee  ; 
This  visitation  had  not  been,  nor  would 
I  dignify  thy  carnal  slip  by  my 
Incarnate  presence,  but  for  thy  perfidy. 
For  thou  hast  reached  a  depth  of  moral  baseness 
Below  the  meanest  fiend  in  lowest  hell ; 
Thou  hast  deserted  her  who  sinned  with  thee, 
Gave  up  her  virtue  to  express  her  love, 
Laid  down  her  treasure  to  thy  secret  lust, 
And  then  took  up  thy  burden  with  her  own. 
Think  not  I  come  to  draft  thee  of  my  legions, 
I  would  not  have  so  weak,  so  mean  a  coward, 
To  sow  pale  fear  among  them.    No ! 
Thou  wilt  be  damned  outside  of  Hell.    I  come 
To  show,  as  in  a  mirror,  what  thou  art ; 
Not  what  thou  shalt  be.    The  past  and  present  both 
Are  mine,  the  future  rests  with  God.    But  now, 

Hester's  image  appears  in  a  cloud  dressed  in  white. 


52  THE    SCARLET  STIGMA. 

Behold  the  woman  as  thou  first  didst  know  her, 
A  loveliness  to  tempt  or  saint  or  devil, 
The  rare  quintessence  of  pure  womanhood  ! 
Transparent  brightness !    A  living  crystal  globe, 
Wherein  all  beauties  of  humanity 
Reflect  themselves  with  iridescent  glow ! 
Dost  thou  remember? 
Behold  her  now  the  mother  of  thy  babe, 

The  image  of  Hester  changes.     She  holds  their  babe 

in  her  arms. 

Whose  pretty  wiles  would  win  hard  Moloch's  heart ; 
Make  him  forget  his  rites,  and  turn  man-nurse. 
O,  fool !  I  would  renounce  my  war  with  Heaven, 
Eat  up  my  pains  in  one  most  bitter  mouthful, 
And  sue  for  pardon  from  God's  hated  Throne, 
If  such  an  offspring  might  but  call  me  father ! 
Where  is  thy  manly  pride? 
But,  now,  behold  her  shamed,  bearing  the  badge 

Hester's  image  wears  Scarlet  Letter  "A." 
Of  thy  foul  infamy.    Tear  wide  thy  shirt, 
For  as  thou  look'st  on  her  I  will  impress 
Upon  thy  breast  a  stigma  worse  than  hers. 
Aye,  fall  upon  thy  knees  to  worship  her 
The  Lady  of  the  Scarlet  Letter. 
Yet  while  thou  kneel'st  thy  flesh  doth  glow  and  burn 

Scarlet  Letter  "A"  glows  on  DimsdelVs  breast. 

With  all  the  deep  red  heraldry  befits 
A  coward  lust :  the  latter  "A"  in  gules 


//.     SCENE  III.  53 

Upon  thy  sable  heart.    There  let  it  gnaw 
Forever  and  forever ! 

Hester  vanishes.     Satan  fades.     No  light,  serve  "4"  on 

Dimsdell's  breast. 

And,  now  I  go,  I  put  this  curse  upon  thee : 
Be  coward  still,  wear  outwardly  the  garb 
Of  righteousness,  shake  in  thy  pious  shoes, 
Cover  the  stigma  on  thy  breast  from  eyes 
Of  flesh,  and  be  a  hypocrite,  till  death 
Relieves  the  world  of  thee.    We'll  meet  again. 

\_Lightning.    Exit  Satan.     Dimsdell  lies  in  trance. 

Night.     No  sound,  no  light. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  \.-The  garden  of  Governor  Bellingham.     ROGER 
PRYNNE,  called  Chilling-worth,  alone. 

Roger.  The  fox  that  robbed  my  roost  is  sly ;  he  keeps 
The  cover  warily ;  and,  now  the  scent 
Is  cold,  the  curs  that  yelp  in  scandal's  pack 
Bay  loud  on  many  faults,  but  cannot  trace  him. 

Enter  DlGGORY. 

Diggory.  Doctor,  the  Governor  will  join  you  presently. 

Roger.  Diggory,  I  will  await  him  patiently.  [Sits. 

Diggory  retires,  then  returns. 

Diggory.  Doctor,  may  I  beg  a  word  with  you? 

Roger.  A  thousand  if  you  will. 

Diggory.  I  would  speak  in  confidence. 

Roger.  The  manner  would  become  thee,  Diggory. 
But  speak,  man!    Say  on. 

Diggory.  I  need  a  philter,  Doctor.    For  the  love  of  mercy — 

Roger.  For  the  love  of  good  liquor,  Diggory,  thou  shalt 
have  twenty  filters.    Still  decanting? 

Diggory.  O,  sir!  not  that  kind  of  filter.    I'm  in  love! 

Roger.  Ah!  thou  art  in  love?    In  love  didst  thou  say? 

Diggory.  Aye,  sir,  if  it  please  you. 

Roger.  It  pleases  me  well  enough ;  how  doth  it  please  the 
lady? 


/.     SCENE  I.  55 

.  She's  not  a  lady,  sir,  thank  God!   she's  but  a 
simple  maiden,  and  it  pleaseth  her  not. 

Roger.  A  simple  maid  refuses  you !  Ah !  Diggory,  Diggory, 
be  thankful  for  the  good  things  God  hath  sent  thee. 

Diggory.  Truly,  sir,  I  thank  Him  ev'ry  day;  but,  sir,  as  I 
do  desire  the  maiden— I — I — would  have  her  too. 

Roger.  And  so,  Diggory,  thou  wouldst  have  me  aid  thee 
in  this  folly,  and  give  thee  a  love  potion? 

Diggory.  Aye,  sir,  begging  your  honor's  pardon. 

Roger.  But  why  dost  thou  ask  me,  Diggory?  Dost  thou 
take  me  for  an  herb-doctor,  or  a  necromancer,  or  what? 

T)iggory.  My  master,  the  Governor,  says  you  are  a  very 
learned  man, a  what-you-call-'em — a  scientist;  and  a  scientist 
can  do  anything. 

Roger.  Humph!— Diggory,  I  do  not  deal  in  philters;  they 
are  out  of  date — but  I  know  a  charm  will  win  her  love. 

Diggory.  Tell  it  me  for  the  love  of — 

Roger.  Thou  wilt  betray  it,  Diggory. 

Diggory.  Never!    Never! 

Roger.  Omit  thou  but  a  word  of  it,  and  the  maiden's  lost 
to  thee — but  con  it  well,  and  all  her  beauties  will  be  thine. 

Diggory.  Oh!  Doctor! 

Roger.  Take  of  the  rendered  grease  of  three  black  bears- 
do  not  fail  in  that — anoint  thy  curly  locks — 

Diggory.  My  hair  is  straight. 

Roger.  Never  mind — but  rub;  and,  as  thou  dost,  repeat 
these  words: 

Lady  love,  lady  love,  where  ier  thou  be, 
Think  of  no  man  but  only  me  ; 
Love  me,  and  wed  me,  and  call  me  thine  own, 
Ting-a-ling,  ting-a-ling,  ting-a-ling,  Joan. 


56  THE  SCARLET  STIGMA. 

Diggory.  What  is  that  "  Ting-a-ling,  ting-a-Iing"? 

Roger.  That  is  the  chief  element  of  the  charm — don't  for 
get  it.  Having  done  this  on  nine  successive  days— dost 
thou  follow  me? 

Diggory.  Aye,  sir. 

Roger.  On  the  tenth  go  to  the  barber's  and  have  thy  hair 
cut  short. 

Diggory.  But,  sir,  my  hair  is  my  best  feature! 

Roger.  It  is  with  many;  cut  it,  however,  or  lose  the  worth 
of  all  of  the  charm.  Dost  thou  hear,  Diggory?  Cut  thy 
hair  short  or  never  win  fair  woman.  Farewell. 

Diggory.  I  thank  you,  sir.  \Going\  "  Lady  love,  ting-a- 
ling  " — nay,  that's  not  it. 

Roger.  Diggory! 

Diggory.  Yes,  sir. 

Roger.  Who  are  with  the  Governor? 

Diggory.  The  worthy  ministers,  Master  Wilson  and  Mas 
ter  Dimsdell. 

Roger.  Very  well.  [Exit  Diggory,  trying  to  recall  the  verse. 
Ah!  Diggory,  thou  art  but  a  dram  of  love  in  a  fluid  ounce 
of  fool !  And  so  may  we  label  all  mankind.  For  instance : 
the  Governor  is  a  wise  man  and  a  politic;  Wilson  a  good 
man  and  a  pious;  Dimsdell — ah!  there  I  pause,  for  what 
fine  formula  can  sum  the  qualities  of  that  same  Arthur  Dims 
dell?  He's  not  a  fool;  nor  mad;  nor  truly  cataleptic— yet 
he's  moody,  falls  in  trance,  and  I  suspect  his  power  as  a 
preacher  comes  from  ecstasy.  Something  he  is  akin  to 
genius— yet  he  hath  it  not,  for  though  his  aim  be  true 
enough,  he  often  flashes  in  the  pan  when  genius  would  have 
hit  the  mark.  I'll  write  his  case  in  Latin !  What  a  study 


///.     SCENE  I.  57 

that  would  be  if  I  could  first  find  out  the  reason  why  he 
clutches  at  his  breast ! — If  once  I  find  him  in  a  trance,  alone — 
ah!  here  they  come. 

Enter  GOVERNOR  BELLINGHAM,  REV.  JOHN  WILSON, 

REV.  ARTHUR  DIMSDELL,  and  following  them, 

with  a  tray  of  wine,  DlGGORY. 

Wilson.  Good  morrow,  Doctor. 

Roger.  Good  morning,  gentlemen. 

Governor.  [To  Diggory.~\  Leave  the  wine  within  the  sum 
mer  house.  Good  morning,  Doctor.  When  Mistress  Prynne 
doth  come  conduct  her  hither. 

Diggory.  Sir,  she's  coming  this  way  now. 

Governor.  Very  well.     Go.    [Exit  Diggory. ~\     Doctor,  we 
debate  what  disposition  should  be  made  of  Hester  Prynne's 
young  child.    We  ask  your  aid — but  here  she  is. 
Enter  HESTER  PRYNNE. 

Hester.  Your  worship  hath  been  pleased  to  summon  me 
To  bring  my  child  before  you. 

Governor.  Where  is  the  child? 

Hester.  The  babe  is  sick  but  answers  by  attorney. 
What  is  your  will? 

Governor.  Some  pious  matrons,  Hester, 

Have  charged  that  thou  art  not  a  person  fit 
To  rear  that  infant  immortality, 
And  guide  it  unto  God. 

Hester.  God  gave  the  child 

In  rich  exchange  for  all  things  else  which  I, 
Poor  sinful  I,  had  forfeited;  and  now 
You,  who  have  made  yourselves  the  flails  of  God, 


58  THE  SCARLET  STIGMA. 

Would  separate  the  wheat  from  chaff  before 
The  grain  is  ripe,  and  take  her  from  me. 
Oh !  ye  are  wise !     No  doubt  ye  see  beyond 
The  purpose  of  Almighty  God  who  gave 
The  child  to  me! 

Governor.  Nay,  take  it  not  to  heart, 

For,  Hester,  duty  to  the  child  we  owe 
To  put  its  soul  upon  the  way  that  leads 
To  Heaven.    She  will  be  cared  for  tenderly. 

Hester.  She  is  the  last  small  link  that  binds  my  soul 
To  earth,  the  tiny  needle  that  doth  point 
My  way  to  Heaven.     You  shall  not  take  her  from  me! 
Speak  thou  for  me  [To  Ttimsdell] ;  as  my  pastor  speak ; 
Speak  now ;  and  say  if  any  harm  from  me 
Will  hurt  the  child.     I  will  not  part  with  her! 
Say  if  thou  canst,  for  thou  hast  sympathies 
Which  these  men  lack,  say  what  the  mother's  rights 
Are  in  her  child;  and  what  those  rights  must  be 
When  naught  beside  the  child  is  left  to  her — 
Her  husband  gone,  her  friends  deserted, 
No  reputation,  no  sympathy,  no  love — 
But  only  those  twin  brands  of  shame,  her  baby 
And  The  Scarlet  Letter! 

Dimsdell.  I  have  a  dual  duty  to  discharge ; 
I  am  this  woman's  pastor — and  her  friend, 
And  therefore  she  hath  called  me  to  defend  her ; 
I  am,  beside,  a  member  of  your  council, 
And  hence  am  with  you  in  your  consultation; 
And  yet,  I  think,  these  duties  may  be  made 
To  yoke  and  draw  me  to  a  just  conclusion. 


III.     SCENE  I.  59 

Wilson.  Thou  also  hast  a  duty  to  the  child. 

Dimsdell.  Aye,  so  I  have.    Our  aim  is  well  enough, 
But  let  us  pause  before  we  do  adopt 
A  means  that  varies  from  the  one  marked  out 
By  God  and  Nature. 

Governor.  Is  there  not  command 

To  teach  our  children  in  the  fear  of  God 
And  guide  them  from  impurity? 

Dimsdell.  God  gave  us  mothers  when  He  gave  us  life, 
And  to  their  tender  care  He  did  entrust 
The  mortal  and  immortal  parts  of  us. 
What  then?    Would  we  improve  upon  His  system  ; 
Would  we  now  deprive  this  little  one 
Of  that  fond  mother-care  which  nurtures  her? 
Or  would  we  put,  in  place  of  mother-love, 
The  cold,  hard,  formal  training  of  a  paid 
Instructor? 

Governor.  But  is  this  woman,  stained  with  sin, 
A  mother  to  entrust  a  child  to? 

Dimsdell.  That  question  God  hath  answered;  and  we  know 
The  stain  of  sin  doth  fade  beneath  the  bleach 
Of  true  repentance;  through  it  all  appears 
The  woven  figure  of  the  woman-fabric — 
Her  motherhood ! 

We  owe  our  lives  to  woman's  suffering, 
We  owe  our  health  unto  her  temperance, 
We  owe  her  all  the  best  of  us.    Let  God 
Condemn  her  sin,  but  let  us  not  presume 
To  punish  her  where  He  hath  healed  her  heart. 

Wilson.  There  is  weight  in  what  he  says. 


60  THE   SCARLET  STIGMA. 

Roger.  Yea,  and  earnestness! 

Governor.  Well,  Hester,  go  thy  way;  the  child  is  thine. 
Remember  thou  dost  owe  a  gentle  thanks 
Unto  this  pious  man.    Go,  Hester,  keep 
The  child.    Think  well  upon  his  words;  be  thou 
A  mother  in  all  righteousness,  as  well 
As  in  thy  sin.    Farewell. 

Hester.  I  thank  you,  gentlemen.  [Exit. 

Wilson.  That  woman  would  have  been  a  noble  wife 
Had  not  some  villain  robbed  her  of  her  dower. 

Governor.  Come,  gentlemen,  this  business  well  is  ended, 
And,  Dimsdell,  yours  is  all  the  credit  of  it ; 
For  one  I  thank  you. 

Roger.  We  all  do  thank  you,  sir. 

Governor.  Come,  let  us  drain  a  cup  of  wine;  and  then 
Go  in. 

Dimsdell.  I  beg  you  to  excuse  me. 

Roger.  And  me, 

1  pray.    I'll  stay  with  Dimsdell. 

Governor.  Well,  Wilson,  you 

Shall  not  escape  me.    Gentlemen,  the  wine 
We  leave  you;  keep  it  company.— And,  Dimsdell, 
Forget  it  not,  to-morrow  thou  must  preach 
A  grand  election  sermon.    The  people  do 
Expect  a  master  effort,  man.    Fail  not. 

[Exeunt  Governor  and  Wilson, 

Roger.  He  will  not  fail  them,  Governor;  a  tongue 
Of  flame  is  his.    What  ails  thee,  Dimsdell? 
How  now?    Why  man! 

Dimsdell.  I'm  very  weak.    The  pain  about  my  heart — 


III.     SCENE  I.  6 1 

Roger.  Nay,  courage,  man  !     Twill  leave  thee  soon. 
I'll  get  a  cup  of  wine  to  cheer  thee  up. 

Dimsdell.  Do,  I  pray.    And,  Doctor,  give  me  something 
to  abate  this  agony. 

Roger.  \  will.  [Exit. 

Dimsdell.  Try  how  I  may,  there's  no  escape  from  pain. 
1  robbed  the  law's  strong  arm,  and  thereby  put 
The  lash  in  conscience'  hand — and  yet  I  thought 
Hypocrisy  a  duty  to  my  calling! 
'Twere  better  1  were  known  as  what  I  am, 
Than  still  to  hide  my  sin  beneath  the  garb 
Of  outward  purity!     'Twere  better  now, 
By  Hester's  side,  to  bear  opprobrium, 
And  brave  what  man  may  do,  than  still  to  nurse 
This  misery  in  secret! 

Re-enter  ROGER  with  wine-tray;  places  it  upon  a  bench  and, 

taking  a  vial  from  a  pocket  medicine-case,  pours  a  few  drops 

into  a  wine-glass,  then  fills  the  glass  with  wine. 

Roger.  A  minim  more  would  lull  him  into  sleep. 
Here  is  the  chance — and  here  the  will — to  learn 
His  secret  malady.    What  holds  me  back? 
Conscience?    Tut,  tut!     It  will  not  harm  him ! 
'Twill  do  him  good  to  sleep;  'twill  do  me  good 
To  know  the  why  he  clutches  at  his  breast. 
I'll  do  it.  [Pours  more  from  -vial. 

Sir,  drink  this  off. 

Dimsdell.  I  thank  thee,  kind  physician.  [Drinks. 

Roger.  Nay,  thank  me  not.    Now,  take  a  glass  of  wine. 

[Giving  him  another  glass. 


62  THE  SCARLET  STIGMA. 

DimsdelL  Methinks,  the  wine  is  richer  than  is  common. 

Roger.  Thirst  always  gives  an  added  age  to  wine. 
This  is  right  Xeres.     Hast  been  in  Spain? 

DimsdelL  Nay,  but  the  wine  hath.     I  feel  its  warmth. 

Roger.  Truly,  it  is  a  grand  inquisitor; 
'Twill  search  each  petty  heresy  that  taints 
Thy  blood,  and  burn  it  to  a  cinder. 

DimsdelL  How  many  leagues  it  came  to  serve  my  need. 

Roger.  Aye,  a  thousand,  and  a  thousand  more! 

DimsdelL  I  would  not  go  so  far  for  it  just  now, 
For  through  my  limbs  there  creeps  a  lang'rous  ease 
Like  that  which  doth  precede  deep  slumber. 

Roger.  Rest  here  upon  this  bench.     \_Dimsdell  sits,  half 
Give  way  unto  your  drowsiness;  it  is  reclining. 

Not  sleep,  but  rest  and  relaxation.    There! 
I'll  keep  you  company. 

DimsdelL  Do. 

Roger.  [Pouring  wine  and  drinking. .]  This  wine  is  liquid  gold. 
I  quaff  to  your  good  health  and  ease  of  mind. 
This  is  good  wine.    It  warms  my  chilly  blood 
With  all  the  dreamy  heat  of  Spain.    I  hear 
The  clack  of  th'  castinet  and  th'  droning  twang 
Of  stringed  instruments ;  while  there  before 
Mine  eyes  brown,  yielding  beauties  dance  in  time 
To  the  pulsing  music  of  a  saraband! 
And  yet  there  is  a  flavor  of  the  sea,  [Sipping  wine. 

The  long-drawn  heaving  of  the  ocean  wave, 
The  gentle  cradling  of  a  tropic  tide; 
Its  native  golden  sun — I  fear  you  sleep? 
Or  do  the  travels  of  the  wine  so  rock 


III.     SCENE  I.  63 

Your  soul  that  self  is  lost  in  revery? 

Why,  man,  dream  not  too  much  of  placid  bliss; 

Nor  wine,  nor  man,  can  reach  this  clear  perfection 

Until  they  pass  the  rack  of  thunder  and 

Of  hurricane. — Tison  us  now!  Awake!  [Shouting in  Dims- 

My  friend,  awake !    Dost  thou  not  hear  the  storm  ?   dell's  ear. 

Oh  !  how  it  shrieks  and  whistles  through  the  shrouds ! 

The  awful  guns  of  heaven  boom  in  our  ears — 

Nay,  that  was  the  mainsail  gone  by  the  board, 

Flapping  with  cannon  roar. 

You  do  not  follow  me.    O,  come,  I  say ! 

This  is  no  sermon.    You  cannot  be  asleep, 

Yet  feign  you  are  to  cheat  me  of  my  story. 

Wake  up,  my  friend.    You  carry  the  jest  too  far. 

Roger  cautiously  shakes  Dimsdell. 

So  soon  !     So  sound  !  \_Looks  around. 

I  fear  you  are  not  easy ;  thus.    That's  better. 
Your  pardon,  sir,  your  collar's  much  too  tight 
Now  will  I  steal  his  hidden  mystery, 
And  learn  the  secret  of  his  lengthened  pain  ; 
Cure  him  and  gain  great  honor.    To  think  a  man 
Would  case  himself  in  buttons  like  an  armour! 

Now,  shirt 

Merciful  God !  what  miracle  is  this ! 

A  stigma!     Aye!  a  stigma!  the  letter  "A" 

In  blood  suffused !    The  counterpart  of  that 

Which  Hester  wears,  but  palpitating  here 

In  life !     This  is  beyond  my  skill. 

Ah  !  David !  David !    Thou  art  the  man  !    Thou  wouldst 

Have  set  me  in  the  hot  forefront  of  battle 


64  THE   SCARLET  STIGMA. 

Hadst  thou  but  known  me  as  Uriah  ! 

Bah! 

Why,  what  a  brainless  dullard  have  I  been, 

To  see  this  pretty  puff-ball  of  a  preacher 

Wax  large  before  mine  eyes  in   righteous  husk— 

And  think  him  whole  within— when  but  a  touch, 

But  one,  had  aired  his  rottenness ! 

Oh !  dotard  that  I  am !   blind,  deaf  and  stupid ! 

It  takes  a  miracle  to  make  me  see 

What  lay  before  me  open.    He  did  take 

Her  part ;  ever  professed  himself  her  friend ; 

And  at  her  trial  fell  in  trance.    What  more? 

He  is  the  man !    He  is  the  man ! 

Now  ends  our  game  of  hoodman  blind ;  oh,  F 

Was  warm,  so  very  warm  at  times,  so  hot, 

Did  almost  touch  thee;  yet  I  knew  thee  not 

For  him  I  sought.    Thou  cunning  hypocrite! 

It  must  be  I  am  fitted  to  my  state, 

DuH,  trusting  and  incapable ; 

Or  else — why  surely  I'm  a  fool. — 

Had  I  been  here  when  Hester  bore  her  child, 

I  would  have  fondly  dreamed  it  was  mine  own ; 

Put  on  the  unearned  pride  that  old  men  wear 

When  their  young  wives  bear  children. 

A  pretty  baby,  sir!    My  grandchild? — No; 

Mine  own ;  my  very  own !    Nay,  wrong  me  not ;. 

I'm  not  so  old — not  so  damned  old  after  all! 

A  ghe!  a  ghoo!    Are  not  the  eyes  like  mine? — 

Yea,  would  have  dandled  it  upon  my  knee, 

And  coddled  each  succeeding  drop,  as  though 


///.     SCENE  II.  65 

My  fires  had  distilled  them. 

But — now  I  know — my  knowledge  must  be  hid. 

Back  shirt!  cover  blazoned  infamy 

And  let  the  whited  front  still  hide  from  man 

The  sepulchre  of  crime  that  festers  here. 

He  will  not  wake  within  an  hour.     I'll  go 

Inform  the  Governor  he  sleeps,  and  have 

Him  order  none  disturb  his  pious  rest. 

Then  I'll  return  and  calmly  probe  his  soul. 

Sleep  on !    Sleep  on !  [Exit  Roger. 

SCENE  1 1. — Another  part  of  the  garden.  Enter  alone,  DIG- 
GORY. 

Diggory.  If  there  be  no  true  charm  but  it  hath  a  touch  of 
folly  in  it,  this  one  must  be  most  potent.  Now  a  wise  man 
would  not  think  there's  that  virtue  in  a  bit  of  grease,  a 
jingling  rhyme,  and  a  hair  cut,  that  one  might  thereby  win 
a  woman's  love — but  the  wise  are  fools  in  love.  I  have  here 
the  lard  of  three  bears — one  more  than  the  old  adage  of 
"  bear  and  forbear " — and  with  it  I  am  to  anoint  my  head 
as  an  enchantment  to  bring  about  my  marriage  to  Betsey — 
marry,  I'll  temper  the  strength  of  the  charm  with  a  little 
bergamot,  for  in  truth  two  of  the  bears  have  been  dead  over- 
long.  Whew! — Aha!  enchantment  is  the  only  highway  to 
success  in  love!  Now  let  me  see:  "  Lady  love,  lady  love, 
where'er  you  be  " — 

Betsey.   [Singing  behind  the  scenes] 

Little  bird,  little  bird,  come  tell  me  true; 

If  I  love  my  love,  as  your  love  loves  you, 

And  if  he  loves  me,  as  you  love  your  mate; 

How  long,  little  bird,  should  I  make  him  wait  ? 


66  THE   SCARLET  STIGMA. 

Diggory.  That's  Betsey  singing  now !  If  the  charm  works 
like  this,  bear  fat  will  be  worth  its  weight  in  gold.  But 
perhaps  my  features  may  have  pleased  her  after  all — I'm 
not  bad  to  look  upon;  and  truly  I  would  save  my  hair;  it's 
the  best  part  about  me.  Singing  again. 

Betsey.   [Singing  behind  the  scenes} 

In  Summer-tide,  sweet  Summer-tide, 

O,  what  can  a  maiden  do, 
If,  while  he  walks  close  by  her  side, 

Her  lover  begins  to  woo  ? 

Diggory.  Now  I  wonder  where  she  learnt  all  those  pro 
fane  songs?  From  some  liberal  folk  in  the  old  country,  no 
doubt;  they  ill  become  a  puritan.  If  she  were  a  little 
slower  in  her  speech,  what  an  angel  she  would  be !  As  it  is, 
she  is  a  very  good  woman,  tongue  and  all. 

Betsey.   [Singing  again,  behind  the  scenes.} 

For  her,  of  buttercups  and  violets, 
A  circlet  for  her  hair  he  makes ; 
And  sings,  in  roundelays  and  triolets, 

A  song  that  soon  her  fancy  takes. 
In  Summer-tide,  sweet  Summer-tide, 

O,  what  can  a  maiden  do, 
If,  while  he  walks  close  by  her  side, 

Her  lover  begins  to  woo? 

Diggory.  I'm  not  a  judge  of  songs,  but  if  she  means  half 
she  says — and  a  woman  sometimes  does — some  one  is  about 
to  be  the  top  feather  in  Fortune's  cap  ;  it  may  be  me.  I'll 
try  my  luck  once  more.  [Going  toward R.  wing}  Why,  here 
she  comes. 


///.     SCENE  II.  67 

Enter  BETSEY,  with  a  pair  of  butter  paddles. 
Betsey.   [Entering.'] 

tAdown  the  moonlit  path  they  walk, 

Through  all  the  world  called  lover's  lane, 
And  hand  in  hand  they  sigh  and  talk 

Of  the  love  that  binds  them,  happy  twain! 

What  are  you  gaping  like  a  great  gaby  for? 

Diggory.  For  Fortune  to  drop  the  plum  into  my  mouth. 

Betsey.  Where  is  the  plum  ? 

Diggory.  There.  [Pointing  at  herJ\ 

Betsey.  You  silly  fellow !  yesterday  I  was  a  peach ;  the  day 
before  strawberries  and  cream  ;  the  day  before  that  a  rose ; 
and  last  week  a  dove— marry,  I  don't  coo  for  you !  Can  I 
be  all  these  things  at  once  and  still  be  Betsey  Tomkins  ? 

Diggory.  O,  Betsey,  thou  art  all  the  world  to  me ! 

Betsey.  O,  Diggory,  thou  art  a  great  fool  to  me!  Why, 
man,  thy  head  is  as  soft  as  a  pat  of  butter ;  I  could  take  it 
between  my  paddles,  like  this,  and  mold  it  into  any  shape  I 
chose. 

T)iggory.  So  you  may,  Betsey ;  so  you  may.  And,  Betsey, 
for  the  love  of  mercy,  mold  it  into  the  head  of  thy  future 
husband. 

Betsey.  'Twould  take  a  pair  of  shears  to  do  that. 

Diggory.  Wouldst  thou  marry  me,  Betsey,  if  I  should 
lose  my  pretty  locks? 

Betsey.  \  would  not  marry  you  with  them,  that's  flat. 

T^iggory.  Shall  I  shave  my  head  or  only  clip  it  close? 

Betsey.  Cut  it  off,  Diggory,  cut  it  off. 

T)iggory.  Kiss  me  but  once,  Betsey,  and  I'll  cut  my  head 


68  THE   SCARLET  STIGMA. 

off ;  'tis  of  little  use  to  me  now,  and  if  thou  dost  marry  me— 
well,  thy  head  shall  rest  upon  my  shoulder,  like  this,  and 
one  head  is  enough  for  any  pair  of  shoulders. 
Tietsey.         In  Summer-tide,  sweet  Summer-tide, 

O,  what  can  a  maiden  do,   etc.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— The  same  as  in  Scene  I  of  this  act.  T)imsdell 
asleep  upon  a  garden  bench,  half  reclining.  Enter  ROGER 
PRYNNE,  called  Chillingworth. 

Roger.  To  kill  were  easy;  aye,  but— to  stretch  his  life 
As  on  a  rack — were  that  not  better  still? 
Dead,  I'd  bury  with  him  my  revenge; 
But  while  he  lives  the  old  account  will  stand 
At  daily  usury. 

I'll  tent  his  agony,  prolong  it  here, 
Even  here  where  I  may  feed  upon  it; 
Not  send  him  hence  beyond  my  reach.    Aye! 
I'll  fight  with  death  to  keep  him  for  mine  own. 
But,  now— 

O,  I  must  calm  myself  or  miss  my  aim! 
For,  like  a  hunter  when  first  he  sees  the  buck, 
My  nerves  are  all  unstrung.    This  weakling  trick 
Of  overearnestness  betrays  the  fool 
In  me;  and  yet  we  know  it,  though  we  profit  not, 
The  eager  hand  doth  ever  spill  the  cup 
That  lifted  carefully  would  quench  our  thirst. 
I  must  assume  a  wise  placidity; 
As  he  puts  on— Ah!  damned  hypocrite!— 
The  air  of  purity.     {Approaches  Dimsdell.} 
I'll  drink  dissimulation  at  the  source; 


HI.     SCENE  III.  69 

I'll  study  him. — Thus  might  an  angel  look 
When,  wearied  with  the  music  of  the  spheres, 
He  laid  him  down  upon  a  roseate  bank 
To  dream  of  holiness! — He  hath  not  stirred. — 
'Twas  well  I  did  not  speak  to  Bellingham, 
For  we  have  not  been  noted.    Good,  so  far. 
All  eyes  are  busy  with  their  own  affairs  ; 
I'll  wake  him  now  and  foil  discovery. 

Takes  vial  from  pocket  medicine  case. 

Our  native  drugs  are  balanced  well ;  one  plant 

Sucks  in  the  beams  the  sleepy  moon  sends  down, 

Another  drinks  the  waking  draught  of  dawn. 

That  made  him  sleep,  but  this — Ah! 

A  mouldy  mummied  corse  that  in  the  tomb 

A  thousand  years  had  lain,  would  wake  once  more, 

If  but  three  drops  of  this  should  touch  its  lips. 

I'll  give  you,  sir,  but  two. 

Drops  liquid  into  glass  and  fills  with  wine. 

There,  swallow  it. 
Administering  to  Dimsdell. 
Now,  let  me  see — he  must  not  know  how  long 
He  slept, — and  by  the  sun  it  is  not  long — 
I  have't;  I'll  make  him  think  he  merely  lost 
Himself  while  I  was  talking. 

Dimsdell  stirs.     Roger  pours  a  glass  of  wine  and  takes  position 

he  occupied  when  Dimsdell  fell  asleep.     Speaks  as 

in  continuation  of  former  speech. 

Mellow  wine 


70  THE  SCARLET  STIGMA. 

Is  Nature's  golden  bounty  unto  man. 

And  it  hath  well  been  said :  Dame  Nature  is 

A  gentle  mother  if  we  follow  her ; 

But  if  she  drives  our  steps  no  fury  wields 

A  fiercer  lash  ;  yet  all  her  punishments 

Are  kindly  meant;  our  puny  faculties 

Would  nest  forever  fledgeling  in  our  mmds, 

Did  not  her  wise  austerity  compel 

Their  flight. 

Dimsdell  wakes  with  a.  start  and  recovers  himself  as  one  who 

would  not  seem  rude. 
Or,  put  the  same  in  other  words : 
That  man  is  noble  who  doth  fear  no  fate 
Which  may  afflict  humanity;  but,  like 
A  gallant  soldier,  meets  the  charge  half  way, 
And  takes  his  wounds  a-jesting. 
Now  ev'ry  one  of  us,  whom  Nature  whips, 
Must  take  it  meekly;  for  she  means  our  good; 
And  learn  to  go  along  with  her. 

Dimsdell.  \  fear 

I  dozed  and  lost  the  thread  of  argument. 
1  pray  you,  pardon  me. 

Roger.  I  did  not  note  it. 

But,  be  it  so,  come  sun  yourself;  drive  out 
The  fog  and  vapor  that  becloud  your  mind, 
And  let  the  warmth  of  nature  take  their  place. 
Nature  retrieves  our  losses,  or  charges  them 
Against  us;  all  things  do  rest,  even  the  plants 
Do  slumber  as  they  grow. 

Dimsdell.  How  greedily 


///.     SCENE  III.  71 

The  flow'rs  drink  up  the  wine  our  golden  sun 

Pours  down  on  them,  yet  blush  to  own  their  drinking! 

Roger.  This  is  the  New  World,  man;  and  Nature  here 
Is  lusty;  drink  in  thy  dole  of  heat  and  light; 
For  even  I,  drenched  in  the  golden  rain, 
Feel  pulsings  of  lost  paradise  that  make 
My  blood  leap  with  th'  quick-step  bound  of  youth. 
This  is  the  very  show'r  of  gold  in  which 
Jove  comes  to  fill  the  longing  world  with  life. 
And  as  he  kisses  her  with  ling'ring  lips, 
All  Nature  lies  wide  open  to  th'  warm  embrace 
And  quickens  in  his  arms. — All,  all,  but  thou! 
For  thou  art  single  as  the  northern  pole; 
As  cold,  as  distant,  and  unreachable 
To  what  hath  passion's  warmth ;  and,  though 
Thy  life  be  at  its  summer  solstice — bright 
With  day — thy  heart  still  turns  to  barren  ice, 
More  bleak  than  many  a  wintry  age. 

Dimsdell.  How  can  1  change  my  disposition,  Doctor? 

Roger.  Widen  the  thin  ecliptic  of  thy  life ; 
Revolve  upon  another  axis,  man  ; 
Let  love,  the  sun  of  life,  beam  meltingly 
Upon  thy  heart  and  thaw  it  into  happiness. 
Marry,  man,  marry. 

Dimsdell.  I  cannot  marry:  I  have  my  work  to  do. 

Roger.  If  work  precedent  were  to  love,  the  world 
Would  be  unpeopled.    This  is  the  month  of  June, 
And  now  the  locust  and  the  linden  tree 
Do  wed  the  zephyrs  as  they  blow,  and  weight 
The  air  with  oversweetness. — What  song  is  that? 


72  THE   SCARLET  STIGMA. 

\Voice  of  Betsey  singing  behind  scenes. 1 
For  her,  of  buttercups  and  violets, 

A  circlet  for  her  hair  he  makes ; 
And  sings,  in  roundelays  and  triolet ST 

A  song  that  soon  her  fancy  takes. 
In  Summer-tide,  sweet  Summer-tide, 

O,  what  can  a  maiden  do, 
If,  while  he  walks  close  by  her  side, 

Her  lover  begins  to  woo  ? 

Roger.  That  maid  is  innocent  and  happy  too. 
You  may  have  noticed  that — when  the  heart 
Is  pure — love  overflows  the  lips  in  song 
As  sweet  and  limpid  as  a  mountain  spring ; 
But — when  it's  bitter  with  base  treachery — 
It  dams  itself  against  all  utterance, 
And  either  mines  the  soul,  or,  breaking  forth, 
Sweeps  downward  to  destruction.    Oh !  'tis  true, 
Love  is  the  lyric  happiness  of  youth ; 
And  they,  who  sing  its  perfect  melody, 
Do  from  the  honest  parish  register 
Still  take  their  tune.    And  so  must  you.    For  you 
Are  now  in  the  very  period  of  youth 
When  myriads  of  unborn  beings  knock  loud  and  long 
Upon  the  willing  portals  of  the  heart 
For  entrance  into  life.    Deny  it  not ; 
I  say  but  truth — I  once  was  young  myself. 
Behold  the  means ! 

Enter  MARTHA  WILSON,  carrying  a  bunch  of  roses, 
DimsdelL  Oh!     Oh!     [Clasps  his  breast.'] 


///.     SCENE  III.  73 

Roger.  Whither  so  fast,  Martha,  that  thou  canst  not  speak 
to  us? 

Martha.  Oh!  I  beg  your  pardon,  Doctor.  Good  morning, 
sir.  I  seek  my  father ;  is  he  with  the  Governor  ? 

Roger.  Knowledge  is  costly,  Martha;  yet  thou  art  rich 
enough  to  buy  more  than  information.  For  one  of  those 
sweet  roses,  I'll  tell  you  he  is  well  and  with  the  Governor. 

Martha.  You  beg  it  prettily.  [Giving  Roger  a  rose. 

Roger.  Pure  and  fragrant  as  the  giver — marry,  the  blush 
becomes  it  not  so  well;  it  does  not  come  and  go.  Martha, 
thy  father  and  the  Governor  are  in  the  library.  Is  that  not 
worth  another  rose  ? 

Martha.  Nay,  only  a  very  little  one ;  for  when  he  talks  of 
books  he's  always  loath  to  come  with  me. 

Roger.  Nay,  slander  him  not.  But,  Martha,  books  or  no 
books,  for  two  more  roses  I  will  bring  him  here;  and,  truly, 
fathers  were  cheap  at  three  roses  apiece.  What  say  you? 

Martha.  Nay,  I'll  go  myself  ;  but  do  not  think  I  grudge 
the  roses ;  here  they  are.  You  have  not  begged  of  me  [To 
Dimsdell].  May  I  beg  you  to  accept  this?  Gentlemen,  fare 
well.  [Exit  Martha. 

Roger.  Roses,  and  you  asked  her  not ! 
In  love !  in  love !  up  to  the  eyes  in  love ! 
She'll  drown  in  love  unless  you  marry  her ! 

THmsdell.  Oh !  that  I  were  worthy  of  her ! 

Roger.  Dost  love  her,  Dimsdell  ?    Ah  !  she's  worthy  love. 
She's  fair  and  young;  of  gentle  birth  and  rich  ; 
And  warm  and  pure  and  spirit-like  as  flame 
That  floats  above  new  brandy. 

Dimsdell.  Out  upon  thee,  satyr !    Thou  dishonorest  her. 


74  THE  SCARLET  STIGMA. 

Roger.  Not  a  whit.    Is't  dishonor  to  her  purity 
To  urge  thy  smoky  flame  to  brightness  worthy 
Of  her?    'Tis  what  she  wishes  most;  witness 
Her  confusion  and  her  telltale  blushes. 
Do  me  justice,  man ;  my  thoughts  are  pure 
And  dwell  on  lawful  marriage  only.    Thou,  thou 
Alone,  couldst  see  impurity  in  that. 
I  spoke  of  thee,  man,  of  thee ;  and  who 
Beside  thyself  would  think  a  mottled  thought 
Could  touch  a  maiden  linked  to  thee  in  words 
Or  fact? 

Dimsdell.  Oh  !    Oh  !  [Clutching  at  his  breast. 

Roger.  Had  I  young  daughters  by  the  score,  each  fair 
As  Hebe,  as  voluptuous  as  Venus, 
All  thinly  clad  as  in  the  golden  age, 
I  could  not  wish  a  chaster  keeper  of  them. 
Nay,  had  I  wives  in  droves  like  Solomon, 
I'd  make  thee  Kislah  Aga  of  my  harem, 
Chief  eunuch  and  sole  security — What! 
Call  me  satyr  when  I  urge  in  bounds 
The  boundless  beauties  of  pure  maidenhood. 
And  bid  thee  wed  them !    Thus  best  advices  are 
Construed  amiss,  and  what  we  kindly  mean 
Turned  into  scorn  and  filthiness! 

Dimsdell.  Forgive  me,  Doctor ;  I'm  ill  at  ease.    This  pain 
Is  like  a  stick  thrust  in  a  spring;  it  muddies 
All  my  thoughts.   Oh !  Oh !  [Pressing  his  hands  to  his  breast, 

Roger.  Come,  Dimsdell,  listen  to  a  bit  of  reason. 
Thy  body  is  as  sound  as  a  red  apple 
In  November.    The  pain's  imaginary. 


///.     SCENE  HI.  75 

Marry,  man,  marry;  thy  wife  will  prove 
A  counter-irritant  and  drive  the  pain  away. 

Dimsdell.  No  more  of  that,  I  pray  you. 

Roger.  Not  enough  of  it,  not  enough  of  it ! 

Dimsdell.  No  more,  no  more!    I  must  not  marry. 

Roger.  Think  once  again,  man;  if  that  thy  mind 
Can  pardon  the  suggestion — and,  mark,  I  urge  it 
With  all  diffidence— there  is  a  way, 
Wherein  the  low  opinion  thou  doth  hold 
Of  thine  own  virtues — not  held  by  any  else — 
May  wed  with  beauty  all  unspeakable, 
Raise  up  a  noble  lady,  and  show  thy  Christian 
Spirit  to  the  world. 

Dimsdell.  And  what  is  that? 

Roger.  Wed  Hester  Prynne. 

Dimsdell.  Wed  Hester  Prynne? 

Roger.  Aye !  'twas  that  I  said. 

She  is  a  paragon — nay,  beauty's  self. 
All  other  women  are  but  kitchen-maids 
Beside  her  loveliness. 

Dimsdell.  Wed  Hester  Prynne! 

Roger.  I  hear  her  husband  left  her  well  to  do ; 
And  as  for  that  small  blot  that  sullies  her 
'Twill  fade  when  covered  by  thy  name. 

Dimsdell.  Hester  Prynne! 

Roger.  What  act  more  merciful,  more  christianlike? 
Redeem  the  reputation  of  her  child, 
And  to  the  jeers  of  fools  stop  up  thine  ears; 
Enwrap  thee  in  her  gentle  arms,  lay  down 
Thine  aching  head  upon  her  tender  breast, 


76  THE   SCARLET  STIGMA. 

And  dream  thyself  in  paradise. 

DimsdelL  Thou  fiend  of  Hell!    I  know  thee  now;  thou 
But  once  in  thine  own  form,  and  ever  since  [cam'st 

Hast  been  too  near  me  in  a  worser  one. 
Back  to  the  pit,  I  say!    No  more  of  tempting! 

Roger.  Art  mad?    I'm  man  as  thou  dost  seem  to  be; 
I'm  not  a  fiend. 

DimsdelL  What  dost  thou  know?      [Shaking  Roger  by  the 

Roger.  Only  this— thou  art  as  cowardly  shoulders. 

As  thou  art  lecherous.  What!  betray 
A  woman!  Desert  her  in  her  misery! 
Refuse  to  marry  her ! 

And  all  the  while,  cloaked  in  thy  ministry, 
Dispense  the  sacraments  of  God  to  children — 
How  canst  thou  do  it? 

DimsdelL  If  thou  be  not  Satan,  why  raise  this  cloud? 
Why  vanish  from  my  sight?  Yet  I  did  touch  him  even  now — 
I'll  kill  him— Kill,  kill,  kill— now,  now,  now— 

Roger.  In  trance  again!     Help!    Help!     Help! 

Dimsdell  becomes  rigid ;  with  arm  uplifted  as  if  to  strike  a  death 

blow.     His  speech  thickens,  and  he  stands  motionless. 

Roger  supports  him. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I. — A  room.  DIMSDELL  upon  a  couch  in  a  cata 
leptic  trance.  ROGER  PRYNNE  watching  him.  Two  chairs; 
other  furniture  heavy  and  immovable. 

Roger.  [Feeling  DimsdeWs  pulse']  There's  been  no  change. 
A  very  long  trance. 

At  times  he  mumbles ;  at  other  times,  as  now, 
He  lies  like  death.    If  ev'ry  murderer 
Were  stricken  with  the  image  of  the  thing 
Which  he  would  deal,  'twould  be  a  blessing!    Yet 
When  consciousness  returns,  with  it  will  come 
The  murderous  disposition ;  for  in  these  cases 
The  mind,  although  it  wanders  while  the  trance 
Is  on,  always  comes  back  upon  its  path 
Where  first  it  left  it.    Therefore,  'twere  wise  in  me 
To  be  on  guard.    Well,  so  I  am  ;  but  what — 
What  fear  should  drive  me  hence,  or  make  me  leave 
The  study  of  his  case?    He  hath  no  arms 
But  such  as  both  of  us  were  born  with  ; 
And  despite  my  age  I  am  his  equal  that  way. 
Ah !  a  chair  swung  by  a  furious  man 
Might  make  an  omelet  of  my  brain  ; 
Therefore,  one  chair  will  do — and  that  for  me.  [Removes  chair. 


78  THE  SCARLET  STIGMA. 

Enter  GOVERNOR  BELLINGHAM  in  robes  of  office. 

Governor.  Good  morning,  Doctor. 

Roger.  Good  morning,  Governor.    I  wish  you,  sir, 
As  happy  and  as  prosperous  a  term 
In  office,  as  that  just  closing. 

Governor.  I  thank  you,  sir. 

Has  Dimsdell  recovered  from  his  trance? 

Roger.  Not  yet.    There  he  lies, 

Governor.  Wonderful  I 

Can  you  account  for  his  condition,  Doctor? 

Roger.  There's  no  accounting  for  it,  Governor. 
This  is  the  second  trance  I've  seen  him  in ; 
How  many  more  he's  had,  God  only  knows. 

Governor.  'Tis  most  unfortunate  that  we  must  lack 
His  eloquence  to-day.    The  people,  who 
Always  love  high-sounding  words  more  than 
Wise  thoughts,  prefer  the  musk  of  his  voice 
To  good  old  Wilson's  drone.    Why  isn't  he  in  bed? 

Roger.  Oh!  there  are  manyreasons;  'twould  take  too  long 
To  tell  you  now;  but  at  another  time 
I'll  ask  your  patience  for  a  tale  more  strange 
Than  ever  made  your  flesh  to  creep. 
Governor.  Is  there  mystery  in  the  case? 
Roger.  Mystery!  aye,  and  miracle,  too  I 
You  know  him,  Governor — a  man  whose  nerves 
Are  gossamers,  too  fine  to  sift  the  music 
Of  the  blasts  that  blow  about  our  burly  world, 
And  only  fit  for  harps  whereon  Zephyrus 
In  Elysium  might  breathe.— And  yet  this  man- 
On  !  you'd  not  believe  it  if  I  told  you. 


IV.     SCENE  I.  79 

Enter  Servant. 

Servant.  Your  worship  is  asked  for  at  the  door. 

'Governor.  Say  I  am  coming.     We'll  speak  again  of  this. 

[Exit  Servant. 

\  must  be  gone.    We  servants  of  the  State 
Are  slaves  to  show,  and  serve  the  people  best 
When  most  we  trick  them.    The  pageant  of  the  day 
Goes  much  against  my  better  judgment,  but 
The  crowd  will  have  it  so,  and  so  farewell. 

Roger.  One  moment,  if  you  please.  If  he  revives 
He'll  pick  the  thread  of  life  up  where  he  dropt  it; 
He  may  desire  to  preach,  as  toe  hath  promised  you, 
And,  if  he  doth,  'twere  better  not  to  thwart  him. 

Governor.  Very  well.     I'll  speak  to  Wilson. 

Roger.  I'm  sorry  I  cannot  go  with  you.    Farewell. 

Exit  Governor.     Dimsdell  moves.     Roger  goes  to  his  side  and 
examines  him. 

The  pulse  hath  quickened.    He  moves  his  lips. 
Dimsdell  mumbles  indistinctly. 

I  cannot  catch  it. — 

Dimsdell.  Think  of  it  no  more,  my  love.— 
Our  troubles  now  are  ended,  Hester; 
The  gentle  current  of  our  mingled  lives, 
Long  parted  by  the  barren,  rocky  isle 
Of  hard  necessity,  flows  reunited  on. 

Roger.  Indeed! 

Dimsdell.  How  sweet  it  is,  in  the  afternoon  of  life, 
To  walk  thus,  hand  in  hand,  Hester.    And  as 


8o  THE   SCARLET  STIGMA. 

The  golden  sun  of  love  falls  gently  down 
Into  the  purple  glory  of  the  West, 
We'll  follow  it. 

Roger.  A  lengthy  jump — from  sinning  youth 

Plump  into  the  middle  of  an  honored  age! 
Yet  thus  the  mind,  in  trance  or  dream,  achieves 
Without  an  effort  what  it  wills.    Again? 

Dimsdell.  Sir,  take  my  daughter  and  my  blessing,  too; 
Cherish  her  as  the  apple  of  thine  eye ; 
Still  shield  her  from  the  buffets  of  the  world; 
Let  thy  tenderness  breathe  gentle  love 
Like  an  Italian  air  sung  at  twilight, 
When  the  melody  without  tunes  that  within 
Until  the  soul  arising  on  the  wings 
Of  music  soars  into  Heaven. 

Roger.  Is  there  nothing  in  heredity?    Or  will 
The  orange-blossom  take  its  fragrance  from 
The  Heaven  above;  its  origin  forgot? 

Dimsdell.  Hester,  although  the  snow  upon  thy  head 
Be  white  as  that  on  yonder  distant  mount, 
Thine  eyes  are  blue  and  deep  as  Leman's  lake 
That  lies  before  us. 

Roger.  Thus  in  our  dreams  we  picture  what  we  wish ; 
Not  held  to  time  or  place;  and  while  the  body, 
Like  an  anchor,  sinks  in  mud,  the  winged  craft 
Swings  with  the  tide  of  thought. 
He's  in  Geneva  now;  Hester  with  him ; 
His  daughter  honorably  married; 
And  all  the  pains  of  yesterday  forgot. 
I'll  write  it  down.  [Roger  makes  notes. 


IV.     SCENE  I.  81 

Dimsdell.  Good  night,  dear  wife,  good  night. 
The  stars  of  Heaven  melt  into  angel  forms 
Which  stoop  to  lift  me  to  the  gates  of  bliss. 
Farewell,  farewell !     Nay,  weep  not,  Hester ; 
Our  sins  are  now  forgiven. 

Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  th'  shadow  of  death, 
1  will  fear  no  evil.— Say  it  with  me,  Hester. 

Roger.  Will  he  die  thus?  [Examines  Dimsdell. 

The  pulse  is  weak — a  clammy  sweat — 
'Tis  but  the  culmination  of  the  trance. 
'Tis  but  a  dream.    A  dream !    Yet  one  must  die ; 
And  to  our  human  thought  that  death  were  best 
That  came  preceded  by  a  flag  of  truce 
To  parley  peace.    To  pass  away  In  dreams — 
Without  the  vain  regret  for  work  undone ; 
Without  a  load  of  sin  to  weight  the  soul ; 
With  all  the  argentry  of  honored  age 
To  frost  our  past;  with  all  the  fiercer  heats 
Of  life  burnt  out  into  the  cold,  gray  ash- 
That  were  peace!    Then  might  a  man  yield  up 
The  willing  ghost  as  calmly  as  a  child 
That  falls  asleep  upon  its  mother's  breast 
To  wake  in  paradise. 

Dimsdell  starts  up. 

Dimsdell.  I  see  thee  now— and  now  I'll  kill,  kill,  kill— 
If  thou  be  Satan  I  cannot  harm  thee — 
But  if  a  man— 

Dimsdell  attempts  to  reach  Roger ,  who  keeps  the  one  chair  of  the 
room  in  front  of  him  and  thus  wards  off  Dimsdell. 


82  THE    SCARLET  STIGMA. 

Roger.  Madman,  listen!  Thou  canst  not  harm  me,  yet  I 
am  not  Satan.  My  name  is  Roger  Prynne.  I  am  the  hus 
band  of  the  woman  you  have  wronged. 

Dimsdell.  Thou  Roger  Prynne? 

Roger.  Aye,  Roger  Prynne  and  thine  accuser. 

Dimsdell  looks  about  the  room  as  though  da^ed. 

Dimsdell.  Why,  how  is  this? — But  now,  the  Governor's 
garden — and  now,  my  room ! — But  now,  just  now,  old  Doc 
tor  Chillingworth — and  now,  mine  enemy,  Roger  Prynne! 
Thou  art  the  Devil  himself ! — Thou  shalt  not  trick  me  thus. 
Ban d  music  in  distance. 

Roger.  Trick  thee?  Why,  madman,  thou  hast  been  in 
trance  since  yester  noon.  Trick  thee!  I  like  the  word! 
'Tis  now  the  time  of  day  when  thou  shouldst  preach  the 
great  Election  Sermon,  the  one  event  that  makes  or^mars 
you  preachers.  Dost  hear  the  music?  A  day  hath  passed 
since  thou  wast  in  the  garden.  They  are  marching  even 
now  to  the  market  place. 

Dimsdell.  What  shall  I  do?  [Aloud,  but  to  himself. 

Roger.  Do?  Stay  here  and  settle  our  account;  or  else  go 
on  and  publish  thyself  as  what  thou  art — a  hypocrite. 

Dimsdell.  I  see  it  now!  — Ah!  Satan!  Satan!— thou 
wouldst  affright  my  soul  and  make  me  lose  my  well  earned 
honors.  Why,  Roger  Prynne  is  dead — dead.  'Twas  told 
on  good  report  two  years  ago.  And  now — oh !  try  it  if  thou 
wilt — I'll  have  thee  burnt,  burnt — burnt  at  the  stake,  if  thou 
accusest  me !  Who  would  believe  thee?  Stand  aside,  I  say ! 
Let  me  pass! 

Roger.  How  came  the  stigma  on  thy  breast? 


IV.     SCENE  II.  83 

Dimsdell.  Thou  knowest ! — Make  way,  I  tell  thee !—  Thou 
didst  place  it  there ! — Make  way ! 

They  struggle.     Roger  interposes  the  chair  between  himself  and 

T)imsdell.     Finally,  T)inisdell  wrenches  the  chair  from 

Roger,  flings  it  aside,  and,  grappling  him, 

chokes  Roger  to  death. 

Dimsdell.  [Panting]  A  man!  A  man!  A  man!— Dead! 
dead!  dead! — Nay — like  a  man!  —  Like  a  dead  man! — A 
trick! — A  devilish  trick  ! — Did  he  not  come  in  angel  form 
— and  then  as  Doctor  Chillingworth — and  then  as  Roger 
Prynne — and  now, — and  now,  as  a  dead  body? 

Spurning  Roger  with  his  foot. 

O,  Devil,  I'll  avoid  thee  yet! — I'll  confess  my  crime  and 
thus  unslip  the  noose  about  my  soul ! 

Hurriedly  prepares  to  depart. 

He  said  we'd  meet  again  !    We  have,  and  'tis  the  last  time ! 

[Exit. 

SCENE  II. — Plain  curtain,  down.  Music.  Music  ceases; 
subdued  sounds  as  of  a  multitude  back  of  curtain.  Then  the 
voice  of  ^Dimsdell  rises  as  quiet  returns. 

Dimsdell.  And  now,  good  friends,  Electors  and  Elected, 
Although  my  speech  hath  run  a  lengthened  course, 
And  what  I  purposed  hath  been  said  in  full, 
There's  more  comes  to  me  now. 
What  is  our  purpose  and  our  destiny? 

Curtain  rises  rapidly,  disclosing  stage  set  as  in  Act  I,  Scene  III. 
T^imsdell  upon  a  rostrum  on  church  steps.     Militia  stand 
ing  at  rest.    Citizens  and  officials  in  gala  attire. 


84  THE   SCARLET  STIGMA. 

We  call  us  English,  Anglo-Saxon; 

And  from  the  Old  we  come  to  build  the  New, 

The  equal  England  of  our  expectation. 

Here  in  the  wilderness,  the  first  small  germs 

Of  man's  long-promised  freedom  find  their  soil ; 

Here  hidden  will  they  rot  a  little  while; 

Anon,  the  sprouts  will  break  our  troubled  land, 

Thrust  forth  the  first  red  blades,  and  thence  grow  on, 

Forever  and  forever ! 

I  see  this  vast  expanse  of  continent, 

That  dwarfs  the  noble  states  of  cultured  Europe, 

Spread  out  before  me  like  a  map,  from  pole 

To  pole,  and  from  the  rising  to  the  setting  sun. 

I  see  it  teem  with  myriads  ;  I  see 

Its  densely  peopled  towns  and  villages ; 

1  see  its  ports,  greater  than  any  known, 

Send  forth  their  riches  to  the  hungry  world. 

I  see,  O  blessed,  wondrous  sight !  the  strength 

Of  Anglo-Saxondom — our  mighty  England 

And  our  great  America,  as  one — 

The  Lion  and  the  Eagle  side  by  side, — 

Leading  the  vanguard  of  humanity ! 

And  more  I  see ;  I  see  the  rise  of  man 

Merely  as  man ! 

Let  the  day  come,  O  Lord,  when  man,  without 

Addition  to  that  noble  title — man — 

Can  stand  erect  before  his  fellow-man, 

Outface  Oppression  with  his  flashing  eye, 

And  stamp  and  grind  proud  Tyranny  to  dust. 

Put  in  our  hearts,  O,  Gracious  God,  the  yeast 


7K.     SCENE  II.  85 

Of  freedom  ;  let  it  work  our  natures  free, 

Although  it  break  to  recombine  again 

The  atoms  of  each  state. 

Send  down  thy  pulsing  tongues  of  burning  truth; 

Fire  our  souls  with  love  of  human  kind; 

Let  hate  consume  itself ;  let  war  thresh  out 

The  brutal  part  of  man,  and  fit  us  for 

The  last  long  period  of  peace. 

A  pause,  then  cries  severally, 

First  Citizen.  Is  he  an  angel  or  a  man  ?    Sure  Gabriel 
himself. 

Second  Citizen.  Look !     He  faints. 

Third  Citizen.  Poor  minister ! 

DimsdelL   [Rallying  himself]   I  will  speak  on. 

Governor,  My  pious  friend,  wear  not  thy  body  out 
To  please  our  willing  ears.    Thou  hast  exceeded 
Thy  feeble  strength  already.    Cease,  man ; 
Demosthenes  himself  could  not  have  stood 
The  strain  which  thou  hast  undergone.    Prithee,— 

DimsdelL  I  thank  you;  reason  not  my  wastefulness, 
For,  if  you  make  me  answer  you,  you  cause 
More  waste.    My  taper's  burnt  already. 
It  flickers  even  now,  and,  ere  I  leave 
This  place,  my  light,  my  life  will  go. 
Question  me  not, 

For,  now  I  have  fulfilled  my  public  function, 
There  hurries  on  a  duty  of  a  private  kind 
\  must  perform  at  once  or  not  at  all ; 
Too  long  delayed  already. 


86  THE   SCARLET  STIGMA, 

My  friends,  my  life  is  flowing  fast  away, 

I,  that  should  be  at  full  or  on  the  turn, 

Am  near  my  lowest  ebb. 

This  gnawing  at  my  heart  hath  eaten  through, 

And  now  my  soul  releasing  body  bondage 

Will  take  its  flight— but  where? 

First  Citizen.  It  goes  to  Heaven  when  it  flies; 
But  go  not  now. 

Dimsdell.  Behold  yon  woman  with  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

Citizens.  Oh,  shame  upon  her!     Fie! 

Dimsdell.  Nay,  shame  on  me;  her  sufferings  have  made 
Her  pure,  but  mine,  beneath  this  lying  robe, 
Have  eaten  up  my  heart.    Hypocrisy 
Lie  there  [Taking  off  gown].  Now,  while  1  do  descend  these 
I  leave  my  former  life  behind.  [steps 

Descends  and  goes  toward  pillory . 

Come,  Hester,  come! 

Come  take  my  hand,  although  it  be  unworthy. 

Second  Citizen.  Is  the  man  mad,  my  masters? 

Dimsdell.  Not  mad,  friend,  not  mad;  but  newly  san«. 
Come,  my  victim,  come;  assist  me  up 
The  pillory,  there  let  us  stand  together— 
The  woman  of  The  Scarlet  Letter, 
And  he  who  did  this  wrong. 

First  Citizen.  That  holy  man  is  mad.    He  an  adulterer ! 
I'll  believe  it  when  th'  Devil  grows  blind. 

Dimsdell.  Support  me,  Hester. 

Dimsdell  and  Hester  ascend  pillory  together. 
Ho!  all  ye  people  of  the  Commonwealth, 


/ ;-' 't  \\\'>'/>         87 

Behold  the  man  for  whom  you  oft  have  sought, 
The  man  who  should  have  borne  The  Scarlet  Letter ; 
For  I  am  he. 

If  that  the  last  words  of  one  sinful  man 
May  warn  a  multitude  from  sin,  who  knows 
But  that  his  errors  tend  toward  good  at  last. 
Let  me  not  think  my  suffering  in  vain, 
Or  that  my  crime  confessed  will  lead  on  others 
Unto  their  downfall. 

Behold  me  as  I  am — O,  what  a  pang  [He  clutches  his  breast 
Was  that — a  hypocritical  adulterer.  from  now  on. 

Oh! — aye,  a  base,  a  low  adulterer! 
O,  God,  prolong  my  breath  for  this  confession  ! — 
I  wronged  this  woman  who  did  fondly  love  me, 
I  did  neglect  her  in  my  cowardice, 
I  shunned  the  public  scorn.— 
O,  but  a  little  while!— I  stood  not  with  her ; 
i  was  a  coward ;  and  did  deny  my  child. 
Delay !     Delay ! 

Now  I  avow  my  crime,  I  do  confess  it, 
[Kneels']  And  here  I  beg  you  friends,  as  I  have  begged 
My  God,  forgive  me.    Oh,  I  must  be  brief — 
If  any  think  that  while  I  walked  these  streets 
Jn  seeming  honor  I  lacked  my  punishment, 
Look  here. —  [Tearing  shirt  open  and  disclosing  stigma. 

O— h! 

This  cancer  did  begin  to  gnaw  my  breast 
When  Hester  first  put  on  The  Scarlet  Letter 
And  never  since  hath  once  abated. 
Voices.  O,  wonderful  .'wonderful!  He  faints!  Help!  Help! 


88  THE   SCARLET -STIGMA. 

Hester.  Arthur!  Arthur!    one  word  for  me!    Only  one! 

DimsdelL  I  must  say  more.  [Falls. 

Hester.  Forgive  him,  Father !    O,  God,  have  mercy  now ; 
Give  him  but  breath  to  speak  to  me! 
Arthur!    Arthur! 

DimsdelL  Hester,  my  Hester,  forgive —  [Dies. 

Hester.  Farewell,  farewell — dead,  dead! 
Nay,  you  shall  not  take  him  from  me! 
My  breast  shall  be  his  pillow ;  and,  that  he  may 
Rest  easy,  1  here  cast  off  your  Scarlet  Letter. 

Governor.  Captain,  command  your  men  to  bear  the  body. 
A  solemn  march. 


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